Awake, I Fall
by Firetoflame
Summary: He was not there to catch her the day she fell from the cliff, but as fate brings them together once more, Carlisle swears to do everything in his power to catch her in this new life. When newborn vampire, Esme, opens her eyes to this new world, she discovers that some things-and some people-are worth dying for. Featuring Carlisle, Esme, and of course, Edward
1. Chapter 1

He finds her at the bottom of a cliff—broken—as broken as anyone can possibly be.

She's grey against the ground, twilight bending the shadows against her limbs, each one twisted, like the reaching roots of an evergreen.

And lifeless.

Not quite.

Not yet.

But soon.

He can hear it still, the faint hum of her heart as the blood backs up into her lungs. The heavy _lub dub_ as her heart struggles to pump the blood that leaks in through severed arteries.

She's not dead yet.

But she's dying.

He can hear the scrape of bone on bone as her ribs rub against her sternum, dislodged, cracked.

There's a whistle and a wheeze as the last of her oxygen rattles around fluid filled chambers.

She gasps, short little breaths that barely even register a sound, even to his impeccable ears.

He can smell the iron as her blood seeps into the ground around her, the salt of the spinal fluid that fills the space beneath her skull. And he can smell her. The woods and sweet wildflowers and . . .

He _knows_ her.

In an instant Carlisle is by her side, a hand stroking the matted hair from her ashen face. There's bruising, horrible blackness that is swelling, making her unrecognizable to anyone else, but he knows her . . . _knew_ her . . . the young Esme Platt.

That free-spirited child who fell from a tree chasing birds. Who defied her parents and climbed anyway, breaking her leg. He remembers that day so vividly, like all his vampire memories, but this one with a special clarity.

He'd always wondered what became of her.

She'd intrigued him.

And though he'd met many interesting people during his centuries on earth, both human and vampire alike, he'd never met anyone quite like her. Never anyone who looked at the world with the same kind of awed beauty. Who reveled in the wonder of the simplest things. Who climbed a tree just to see what the birds saw.

He'd had trouble walking away from that sixteen year old girl.

But he had, envisioning the life she'd come to have. The family, the children and grandchildren. She would have made some man very happy.

But here she lies instead.

"What happened to you, Esme?" he whispers and there's a sharpness to her next strangled breath.

It's been a decade since they parted and in a moment of sheer panic he bites her, letting the venom seize her veins.

Because this isn't how it was supposed to be.

For some reason, one he simply can not fathom right now, he can't let her die. He can't watch the life drain from her. He's done it so many times. Watched patients find that final peace. But something in him refuses to let that happen on this night.

So he saves her. Or condemns her. Either way, with the venom filling her veins, she will live. That is the only ending that seems to fit. The only course of action he can stand to make. Despite what happens now, Carlisle has chosen to let her be reborn as a vampire.

He looks once more upon her pale, _pale_ face, dropping his head to his hands. "I'm sorry," he whispers as her entire body seizes.

And with that, she opens her mouth and she screams.

* * *

"What have you done?" Edward says as Carlisle bursts through the front door of the sprawling Ashland home, draping Esme's body along the sofa in the sitting room with a gentle kind of reverence. Nothing will ease the pain that she will feel for the next three days, but still he moves gingerly, arranging her with the utmost care.

"I don't know," he says, clutching her hand as she wails, something long and gruesome. It pains him, the sound. _I'm sorry_ , he wants to say. To breathe it into her ear. To whisper it along her skin. Until it sinks in. Until she understands.

"That's retched," Edward says, his hand reaching for his ears. "Perhaps it is good we live so deep in the woods. Otherwise people might think you spend your days murdering and your nights doctoring." His lips pull back over his teeth. "Is this how I was?"

"Worse," Carlisle says looking to his young companion. His son. "I suspect it will become worse with time. As the injuries in her spine heal and the nerve endings re-attach."

Edward nods. "Who is she exactly?"

"She was a patient once."

Edward looks at him steadily, though Carlisle has come to understand it as more of a listening. A reading of the mind. "You _know_ her?" Edward says sharply.

"I knew the girl she once was." He recalls the memory and lets it play out in his mind. It's no use trying to shield it. "She's a woman now. And I've not seen her since."

"You were fond of her," Edward says and there's a question in his tone.

"I'm fond of you, too."

"Now. That you know me, yes. But as a human, you were fond of her."

"She was lively and kind. And . . ." He sighs and the image of the cliff forms in his mind. "I don't know what happened between then and now. But whatever it was, she didn't deserve that."

"Is this any better?"

Carlisle winces. "I was selfish," he admits. "But I couldn't watch her die."

Edward leans against the back of the sofa. "She thinks she is. Dying that is."

"You can read her?" Carlisle looks up in surprise, eager for this private access into her mind. To her thoughts.

"Yes. She thinks she's going to hell." Edward frowns and Carlisle turns to look at him, pleading. "She didn't fall, Carlisle."

Carlisle turns back, running his hand along Esme's cheek, down her jaw line; already the bruises are fading, though she writhes and cries out, healing as it hurts.

"I suspected as much," he says. "There are signs posted all along the trail. Everyone in town knows to stay away from the edge. Can you tell me why she jumped?"

Edward goes silent, listening, putting thoughts together. "There was a baby," he says eventually. "A son. She lost him to lung fever not long ago." He flinches then, dipping his head and his eyes snap shut.

Carlisle is by him in an instant, a sure hand pressed against his shoulder. "What is it, son?"

Edward looks towards the woman on the couch, his eyes narrowed, his gaze tense. "There's also a man. A violent man." He presses his fist to his jaw. "He was unkind in their marriage. She was hiding from him. I . . . I can't, it's not my place. I'm sorry, Carlisle. I can't listen anymore." He turns. "I'll return later."

"Where will you go?"

Edward pauses. "She has a record at the hospital. I think it's best that it disappears, along with anything else that might tie her to this town. People in Ashland will look for her, there's no doubt, and others may search in time—this man, her family—but the less there is to find . . ." He smiles gently. "I'll return before she wakes. Until then . . . well, she's in good hands anyhow."

"Thank you, son."

Edward hesitates at the door. "And Carlisle?"

"Yes?"

"She remembers you, too. Your voice." His brow furrows as he takes in the creased brow of the woman on the sofa once more, then his lip curls up and he laughs. "Keep talking to her. She thinks you're an angel."


	2. Chapter 2

Once Edward has left he lights a fire in the hearth. He thinks it might bring her comfort. But even as he coaxes the logs to catch, Carlisle shakes his head. What will she care for a fire now, when all she does is burn?

He rubs a hand over his face. He cannot be exhausted, it is not in their nature, but he feels a drain, something tapping his mental energy, but more than that he feels a profound magnetic pull. It brings him back to Esme.

He kneels by her side, looking upon her silken face. Already the venom is changing her. Not so much in the way she looks, but in ways that will last forever. Her skin glows with the subtle strength of their marble features, with the powerful grace, and nearly impenetrable firmness.

Her cheeks have lost their rosy glow, but he yearns to stroke them even more now, and allows himself the pleasure, knowing that he is alone at the present. His fingertips brush gently against her, trailing along her jaw.

Her lips are a lovely, pale pink, like new roses, plucked before their prime, when they're sweetest and most delicate.

He hesitates a moment, pulling away before his curious fingers can linger any longer. Surely he can restrain himself better than this. Perhaps he can distract himself from her. There are new medical journals in his office, ones he picked up only yesterday from the post office, though he knows he'd be lying to think he could leave her side, even for an instant.

Perhaps he can read them to her. Yes, Edward did say to talk to her. Yet that feels rather impersonal—reading some thick medical jargon.

What does he say then?

Where to begin?

He starts with the obvious, by introducing himself. He reminds her of their meeting, many years ago, holding her hand as she writhes. As the hours wane she becomes more violent in her movements, telling Carlisle that the venom has healed her spinal column. She kicks and flails, her chest heaving until he can see her ribs protrude under the thin cotton of her dress.

Regardless of this, he holds her hand, tucking it between both of his; he traces his thumbs across her knuckles, flipping it to trace the lines upon her palms as he memorizes the dips and valleys of her hand. Never in his time on this earth has he wanted to know someone in such detail and the realization confuses him, though he finds himself reluctant to stop. When he finishes studying her hands, he moves back to her face, until such a time as he grows tired of this, though it never comes.

As the time bleeds on, he finds that sometimes he speaks. But sometimes he just listens, imagining the kinds of things she would say in return. Remembering the vibrant child of her youth. Her darling smile. The dimples that drove deep on either side of her face as she told him excitedly of the birds she found nesting in her tree. Even though she had fallen, she could not bring herself to despise her tree or her birds.

He'd found her simply enthralling.

He does still.

He wonders suddenly if she will have changed much. Surely, he thinks, for he found her in a most desperate circumstance. Surely the loss of her son is a blow unlike anything he can imagine. And she will suffer this loss still, even as an immortal. But human memories do have a tendency to fade with time. And he will be here, to help her transition. To help her understand.

Or simply to help send her on her way.

Perhaps she will not wish to stay.

Perhaps she will not wish to live under the same roof as the one who changed her. Who pulled her human soul into the world of the undying.

He certainly hopes not, for he plans to work very hard to earn her trust.

He'd very much like her to stay. To join him, as Edward has.

He sighs heavily, feeling the gentle rush of her breath as she whimpers. _I'm sorry_ , he thinks again.

"You're having quite the internal debate."

Carlisle turns, not surprised to see Edward. He'd heard the soft tread of his feet crossing the lawn on the eastern edge of the property. He must have just come from town. "I'm wrestling with my conscience," he admits. "It was an impulsive decision. I don't know why I did it."

"Those thoughts will drive you mad, Carlisle. Especially when present circumstances are impossible to change." Edward sighs. "She will be one of us now, whether or not you still wish it."

Carlisle cannot bring himself to say it aloud, but even now he wishes it. He cannot reason why, but the desire to know Esme, once again, as an immortal has been gnawing at him for days. So even as he reasons that he should be ashamed and guilty, he does not feel it. Not yet, anyhow. He is sorry for the pain, oh yes. Sorry for the suffering he has put her through. But he is not sorry that she will be one of them.

Anxious though. Oh, yes, he is that. Terrified really, of what she'll think of him. Of her new life.

"The burning is fading," Edward says, breaking up Carlisle's thoughts. "She'll wake soon."

For the first time Carlisle turns to really look at him, opening his mouth to thank him aloud, when he notices the brown packages tied neatly, under his arm.

"Women's clothes," Edward says. "I thought she might like to change once she awakes, so I stopped in at one of the shops in town. Made quite the stir, I did. _There's that Cullen boy_ , they were thinking. _Nice boy. Kind boy. Oh, his father is just the most darling man. A doctor, too. I bet he'll be just like his father_." Edward grins. "Then I inquired about ladies underthings. Their thoughts about me have shifted some."

Carlisle can't help himself. He laughs, loud and clear, and the sound shocks him. It's only been a few days, but he's missed Edward terribly.

"I am rather good company," he says. "Despite the fact you have yet to best me in chess." He lays the parcels at the edge of the sofa. "I wonder if Esme plays. I daresay she'll be a much better match for you. Unless she too can read minds."

Carlisle turns suddenly, considering. And his nerves return.

Edward places a hand on his shoulder. "You did say my gift was rare; that only Aro had anything remotely similar."

"I did."

"Well, then I think the odds are pretty good that Esme will not be able to read your thoughts." He laughs, falling down into the armchair by the hearth. "Can you imagine. Both of us being able to read your mind. What a nightmare for you, really."

"Yes, quite," Carlisle murmurs.

"It's almost over," Edward says suddenly, sitting up in the chair. "Her mind is much clearer." He gives Carlisle a cheeky grin. "Though she wonders where her angel has gone."

"I'm here," Carlisle whispers to her, squeezing her fingertips between his. Her fingers curl inside his and with one more dragging thump, her heart stops.

"It's finished," Edward says and he rises from the armchair to stand next to Carlisle. "She's about to open her eyes."


	3. Chapter 3

Waking after the fire is one of the most peculiar things Esme has ever experienced. It becomes even more so when she opens her eyes to find her childhood fantasy, Doctor Cullen, hovering over her with worry. Though one thing stands out as the oddest of all—

"Vampire?" she says and even her voice sounds strange. It's light and tinkling and like a music that has no tune, but is beautiful despite itself. She touches her throat, like she might be able to feel it, but the only thing she finds is a terrible burning and suddenly it's like she's swallowed sand. But wait, had he said vampire? Well that's utterly ridiculous.

"She's thirsty," the boy says with an understanding smile. He's lovely really. Tall and handsome and his smile still holds the eagerness of youth. Perhaps this is what her son might have grown up to become.

But he'd died. And she fell.

There's a crushing sadness that overwhelmes her and she takes in a shuddering breath. She grabs her throat as the burning suddenly intensifies. This could prove to be quite irksome, she thinks.

Edward snickers and the sound draws Doctor Cullen's attention.

He grins at her and a swell of warmth fills Esme's chest. He also has a lovely smile. Lovely and kind and . . . her heart must be beating out of her chest by now. And her cheeks, oh, they're probably on fire.

She pauses then, a hand drifting to her chest where she can find no heartbeat and to her cheeks where there is no heat. No tell-tale fire.

But there's fire in her throat.

Oh, bother. That burning again. She frowns to herself and the boy laughs again.

"I'd forgotten how wild the newborn emotions could be," he says.

"Newborn," she says, clawing at her throat. "Doctor Cullen, what has happened to me?"

"Esme, you've been changed," he says, his smile pained, yet kind. "I've changed you."

"Changed me? Changed me how?"

"I have made you like me."

"Like you," Esme repeats considering his preternatural beauty and grace. _Vampire?_ No, it's not possible. Certainly not this man. This lovely, kind . . . perhaps she is dreaming. "Doctor Cullen—"

"Carlisle," he says suddenly and the boy looks over with a raised brow of his own. "Please, call me Carlisle."

She nods gently at his request and blinks once, but only really because she feels she should. Because Doctor Cullen—Carlisle—does. She smiles at the sound of his name, even inside her own head, though that thought is shifted to the back as the fire returns to the forefront of her mind and with a frown she asks him: "What exactly have I been changed to?"

"Esme, you, like Edward and I, we're . . . well, I know it sounds utterly preposterous and you doubt it, even now, standing before you—"

The fire licks up her throat, until she finds it almost unbearable and a whine escapes her as she clutches at her neck. "What am I?" she whispers.

"You're thirsty, Esme, because you're a vampire."

Oh bother, that again.

The boy shakes his head at her. "You are as he says, Esme. You are an immortal. A creature of myth and fantasy."

Even the fire dies for the moment as she registers the shock. _Immortal?_ "Pardon me?"

"Think, Esme. About how you feel," the boy says. "You'll never sleep or crave human food again. You'll be stronger than anything you could ever imagine. You can hear and see and smell the world in ways you never could before. It feels like there are expansive areas of space in your mind which you'll fill up and never forget."

"And aside from a tragic few things," Carlisle says, "you are indeed immortal."

"That's quite a story to wrap my head around, Doctor Cull—Carlisle, and though I'm quite loathe to believe you and this young boy are . . . are vampires . . . I feel an urgent need to satisfy this . . . " she paws at her neck, "this feeling in my throat before I decide to consider the fact that I may have survived the cliff and gone insane instead."

The boy—Edward—laughs aloud and it startles Carlisle.

"Her mind is quite something," he says. "I'm thoroughly entertained."

"Edward—" Carlisle admonishes.

"My mind?"

"Yes, Esme, I can read your mind," Edward explains. "Every thought that flickers through the forefront of your mind I can hear."

Esme sighs, a little frown on her lips. This story just keeps getting better and better. "Of course you can, dear. Now, about this thirst business?"

* * *

Esme stands over the carcass of the deer and runs her arm along the corners of her mouth, pulling away with a red stain smeared across her dress. So apparently she was a vampire, seeing as vampires drink blood, and she had wasted no time sinking her teeth into the pulsing artery on the deer's neck. She had not even needed to think about it as her teeth bit through flesh and muscle with a practiced grace.

"This is all quite strange," she says, to no one in particular, though Carlisle and Edward have gathered in her peripheries, where they wait, watching her, Carlisle with vapid concern and Edward with growing amusement.

She feels much better than before, the burn dulling to an ache. Something her impressive mind seems to be able to push to the back. She turns then, to face the two men behind her.

"So what's your consensus," Edward wonders, his smile wide and buoyant.

"Well there's really no way to deny it now," she says. "I suppose I would have woken from a dream by now. And this is far too real to be the product of some insane hallucination."

Edward turns to Carlisle. "I like her."

Carlisle smiles wide, relief etched into his features, and it's the most glorious thing Esme has ever seen. For a second she's stunned into silence, feeling as though the world around her has halted on some distant axis, but then Edward coughs discreetly into his hand and looks away into the forest, attempting to hide a smirk.

Esme runs her hands down the front of her dress, a terrible mess now that she thinks of it. Between the fall from the cliff and the hunt, it's more rags than anything, and she's suddenly feeling very under-dressed, especially in present company.

She looks at Carlisle then, her mouth opening like she might inquire as to a bath and a change of clothes, but gazing at him again leaves her speechless and floundering, much the way he seems to be doing. The best they can do is stare at each other, and though it should unnerve her, all she feels is a heavy sense of wonder. And questions. Lots of burning questions about vampirism. Daylight? Sunlight? Are there coffins? Is she dead? Or undead? Why do they seem to only feed from animals? How long has Carlisle been immortal? Carlisle—with his lovely gold eyes and his hair windswept from hunting. With his square jaw pressed delicately into his hand as he seems to contemplate—

"You can bathe," Edward says, cutting off her thoughts. There's amusement written into his cheeks. "If you wish. And we seem to have been able to acquire some women's clothing . . . though the women at the tailor shop in town think me quite odd now."

"Yes," Carlisle says then, breaking out of some sort of spell. "Yes, of course." He offers her his hand and she steps forward, letting him tuck it into the crook of his elbow.

"And then—" Esme begins.

"You can ask your questions," Edward says, jogging ahead at no more than a human pace.

"Yes," Carlisle says. "We'll answer anything you wish to know."


	4. Chapter 4

The following days pass in a kind of blur for Esme.

There are moments of clarity that defy worldly logic: the ripple of rainbow pearls she can see on the surface of the water as she steps into the bath for the first time to wash the blood from her body; the splinters of mental that she rubs into shavings between her fingers when she pulls her bedroom door right from its frame in a moment of unchecked strength; the strong scent of black ink and rich spice that she can identify from the other end of the house. A scent she has come to associate with Carlisle.

Edward's scent is sweeter somehow, and he smirks at her when she thinks it.

All these things keep Esme very occupied, filing them away into her expansive memory as she explores this old world through her new and improved senses. Yet, with all the amazing things, come those that cause her distress as she adjusts to the world of vampirism.

The first is the clear scarlet of her eyes. The look is so terribly frightening that she can barely stand to look at her own reflection, and instead, goes out of her way to avoid the mirrors in the house.

"It won't be that way forever," Edward assures her during one long night, keeping her company as they await Carlisle's return. He had returned to the hospital shortly after her change, worried his extended absence would draw attention, especially with her recent disappear.

When Carlisle returns that morning he finds Esme sitting on the porch steps, her skirt tangling around bare feet. He smiles down at her. "You're thirsty," he guesses.

She's taken to sitting here when she'd like to hunt. Edward sits just inside, playing the piano, and though it would seem that she's been very much alone, she knows he's been watching her avidly through the window, listening to her thoughts.

Carlisle knows this too and nods to his son as he drops his briefcase on the step beside her and reaches out a hand. "Would you like to hunt?" he asks with a smile that makes her feel like she might stumble down the steps, though of course that's not possible.

"Yes," she says. "Please."

The thirst is another one of those things that case her distress. Besides being uncomfortable, she knows the feeling and the urge is born of the desire to feed from humans. Though animals are enough to satiate her, the real urgency behind her thirst makes her nervous. Edward has told her stories of the scent she will find when she first encounters a human again. How she'll crave it. How she'll become like an animal. It's in their nature, he'd told her.

She clings tighter to Carlisle's hand as they run and is loathe to let it go, even as they approach the herd of deer, but she does, instinct and blood-lust taking over.

After she's fed, when the thirst returns to its spot in the back of her mind and she can think clearly, Carlisle approaches. "You're doing very well," he tells her. "Much neater than Edward was during his first feedings."

She smiles at him because it's almost impossible not to, though she runs her hands nervously down her front, smoothing out the thin blue cotton dress that clings to her skin.

"What is it?" Carlisle asks. His eyes are so vivid and golden as he looks into hers and she studies them with longing.

"How long," she asks.

"Long?"

"Yes. When will the red fade? When will I not look like such a . . ." She searches for the right word, but the only thing that comes to mind is _monster_ and she can't use that. Not when she thinks so highly of both Carlisle and Edward.

He seems to understand her though and frowns, folding his hand against her cheek to tip her face up. "You could never be a monster," he says. "I have known monsters in this life and you, my dear, are not one of them." He lets his hand drift away and she misses it. Sometimes he's so unguarded with her. So open. Then it's as if he realizes and he distances himself again. "Besides, the red fades with every feeding. Already your eyes are lighter than when you awoke."

"Truly?"

"Yes. Soon you won't flinch when you catch sight of yourself."

Esme looks at her feet and laughs in disbelief. "Did Edward tell you that?"

"Yes, and I contemplated removing all the mirrors from the house if it would make you more comfortable. Edward talked me out of it, of course."

"I'm glad. You don't have to change things for me. I'll manage. It must be quite the upheaval to have another newborn under your charge."

Carlisle shakes his head. "You're no trouble. And I would do anything to make you happy. Just say the word."

With that the sight of her eyes and the constant presence of the thirst become a little less maddening. She comes to look forward to these morning hunting sessions with Carlisle; sometimes Edward joins them, eager to race her through the woods, and sometimes he leaves them be, to talk and laugh and she absorbs all the things Carlisle has to tell her about this new life.

Her mind is truly a remarkable thing, expansive and understanding, a perfect match for her insatiable curiosity. Though she soon learns that this new mind has hidden things from her. Buried them during her transformation and for the first time since waking she considers the loss of her human memories.

It's almost one week before the first memory of Charles surfaces. It's grainy and fuzzy, only emerging because Edward had moved too fast in his haste to show her the newest catalouge from which she could order clothes.

As his hand shot out towards her, she flinched, turning away with her eyes closed, braced for an impact that never comes. It's only a moment before she realizes and recovers, but both Carlisle and Edward take note and it seems that the temperature in the living room drops suddenly, which is ridiculous because vampires don't feel the cold.

She folds her hands gently on her lap, brow furrowed as the grainy image of Charles fades. The pale curve of his first. The broad set of his shoulders as he looms over her. The sharp crack of his skin against hers. The heat of the bruises that form beneath tight fingers.

It's almost as if she'd forgotten. In this new body she feels virtually indestructible, and until this moment she had not given Charles a thought. Her son, yes; she'd mourned him. Still mourns him. But to the man who would have been his father, she had spared no feelings, until now.

The feelings are like a physical blow and for a moment she's winded, another implausibility for a vampire.

Her fingers tighten in her lap as she forces the image away, pushing Charles far out of this life. She doesn't want him to follow her here. Not when she thinks she might be happy.

She looks up as Edward steps towards her, placing the catalouge gently by her side. He drops to the sofa cushion beside her, and she does not miss the look he exchanges with Carlisle. She knows he's seen things in her head—sees them still. It's unavoidable, really. But she looks away from them in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, Esme," he apologizes. "I didn't . . . I mean . . . I would never," he fumbles.

She silences him with a hand over his. She squeezes gently, or at least she thinks. At the very least Edward doesn't complain about her excessive strength. "It's nothing," she says, forcing her smile and moving to pick up the catalouge.

"Excuse me," Carlisle says suddenly, turning on his heel and leaving the room.

She looks up, disappointed to find that he's left, hoping it isn't her that's driven him away.

"You couldn't," Edward says, handing her a pencil to mark her purchases. "Drive him away, I mean. He just . . . needs a moment."

Esme nods slowly, twisting the pencil in her hand, feeling how delicate and breakable it is under her marble skin. "What does he know of my past, Edward?" she asks quietly. What she really wants to know is how much Edward has told him.

The boy sighs. "More than I should have," he admits. "During your change your thoughts were wild. I spoke as I heard them and they turned suddenly to your life before. I spoke before I had realized what exactly I was divulging. I know now that it was not my place and I'm sorry."

Esme gives him a soft smile and nods. "Is he okay?" she asks.

Edward shakes his head in disbelief. "The world has been so unkind to you, Esme. You deserve so much more than what it has given you."

Her lips twist into something like a smile. "Perhaps this will be my fresh start."

Edward grins. "So it shall. I will help you. And so will Carlisle—it's all he wants for you, to help—and he will. Once he's done pulverizing the evergreens out back."


	5. Chapter 5

Carlisle has whittled the tree down to a thin, stripped plank by the time Edward finds him. It's the nineteenth he's destroyed, wringing the life out of the poor plant instead of throwing things around his office as was his initial desire. There's things in there he would probably regret breaking; out here, that's less of a possibility.

At least he managed to channel his anger into something somewhat constructive, he thinks. They needed more wood for the hearth at any rate.

"You know this does no good," Edward says, appearing at the edge of the woods. "There aren't enough trees on your land to appease your feelings. And if you destroy all the good hunting land the neighbours will come to visit. And we certainly don't want that. Not while Esme is so young."

He hears the tone of caution in Edward's words. This isn't about the trees. In fact, Edward could care less about them. "I've frightened her, haven't I?" Carlisle crushes the last bit of wood in his hand to dust.

"She's merely . . . _concerned_ ," Edward says diplomatically. "Though it would probably be best if you stopped. You are scaring away the birds."

"I'm sorry. I'll go apologize to her, of course. It's just . . . to think some—" he growls, "I'm loathe to even call him a man, but that he so much as laid a finger on her . . . and as her husband, no less."

Edward kicks at the bits of bark that cover the ground. "I've never seen you like this," he says. "You're like a completely different person."

Carlisle sighs and his thoughts turn wretched. "I've never wanted to kill a human so much in my life. It's a strange feeling—rage. More potent than thirst even."

"And here I thought your control was legendary," Edward teases.

Carlisle sits on the nearest tree stump. The edges hold the shape of his fist. "I do not intend to kill the man, regardless of my desires, though I do pray that some terrible accident befalls him. It's the least he deserves."

"Maybe he'll fall of a cliff," Edward suggests.

Even knowing he shouldn't, Carlisle grins. "How fitting."

"I knew you weren't perfect," Edward jokes. "You've just been playing me this whole time."

"You more than anyone should know how truly imperfect I am, son." Carlisle tips his head towards Edward. "And like all of us, I have to work at these feelings, though I do admit that I have not felt this strongly about something in many, many years."

"When was the last?" Edward wonders.

"Shortly after I awoke to this life. When my hatred for myself as a newborn overpowered even my desire to feed."

Edward nods slowly. "Esme is a good person. One of the best minds I've ever been privy, too. Just now, even as what she remembered terrified her, she was concerned for you. For what you might think of her in light of what I told you those first nights she laid on the sofa in pain."

Carlisle sighs. "I feel somewhat like we have broken her trust, though that was not our intention at the start. Still, I have no business knowing what I do. You, because of your gift, cannot help yourself. But now that I do know . . . now that I suspect what befell her prior to her fall from the cliff, I cannot act as if it has not happened. I cannot be ignorant to it."

Edward studies him intently for a moment, his eyes distant. "What would you have done?" he wonders suddenly. "If you knew all those years ago where her life would lead. What would you have done about it?"

Carlisle hesitates. Hiding his wishes from Edward is useless; the boy has already read them, stolen them from his tongue. But to admit them out loud, well, he's never been so bold in his life.

"Would you really have stolen her away?" Edward asks.

"Yes." Carlisle doesn't hesitate in his answer, for he knows it's true. He would have taken Esme from her home, from her family, if only to protect her. To save her from the pain she's suffered in the last ten years without him.

Edward tilts his head, processing all the unsaid things. "Would you have changed her?"

"That," Carlisle begins, "I do not know. I'm not sure I could have taken her human life from her, not at sixteen. Maybe not ever."

"Then what would you have done?"

He considers the predicament. Back then, when he walked away from young Esme Platt it was to secure her future, to allow her to build the life that she so eagerly dreamed of. Now though, looking back, knowing what he knows, he supposes he might have risked it. Reveled himself. And saved her. "I may not have changed her, but I would have done whatever would have made her happy, I suppose." He looks fondly towards the house. "She favoured nature as a girl. And animals. Her grandparents had a farm that she adored. She also painted. And danced. She dreamed of many things."

"She wanted to teach?" Edward says, picking at his thoughts.

"She did. Perhaps we would have settled far from anyone who knew her, in a small town where she could have taught the children. I think it would have made her happy."

"But if you had refused to change her, she would have grown older. Time does not wait for humans as it does us."

Carlisle nods. "Yes."

"She might have fallen in love with a man," Edward reasons.

"Yes."

"She might have wanted a family."

"Yes."

The boy furrows his brows. "None of those things are compatible with vampirism."

"You don't believe vampires can love?"

Edward rolls his eyes. "Not a human. How could you possibly love someone when one misplaced move of your hand could severe their bones? When the scent of the blood pulsing under their skin would tempt you into insanity? It could never be, Carlisle. A human and a vampire cannot be in love. It would only end in disaster."

"Perhaps," Carlisle says. "But perhaps not. Anyway, I would have stepped aside. Let her live her life as she chose."

"And when she died of old age or sickness? When some freak accident stole her from you? What would you have done then?"

"I—" Carlisle pauses. She had been on her death bed when he found her at the base of the cliff, hadn't she? She had faced the brink of death and he had pulled her back. He reasoned now that it was because the circumstances were so very unfair. Because she deserved more than what her first life gave her. She deserved to try for some of that happiness. But was that all? If Carlisle had stayed when she was younger, watched her grow into the woman she was now, would he have been able to let her go?

Edward smiles to himself. "Your thoughts are quite tangled up at the moment."

 _No thanks to you_ , Carlisle thinks and Edward laughs loudly, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets.

"Come inside, old man. I think you've deliberated and philosophized long enough. Besides, you don't have to work until Sunday. Let's take advantage of that and see how Esme fairs in chess today?"

Carlisle chuckles. "You just want to make us both feel inept."

"Perhaps if you team up you can beat me," Edward grins. "It would be twice the thoughts I'd have to keep track of. Twice the strategy." He stops before they reach the porch of the house and looks to Carlisle. "I think it could be fun. At the very least, even if you lose spectacularly, we can give Esme new memories to think about."

"You do make the most interesting face after you've won when you're trying very hard not to gloat," Carlisle says. "That's always entertaining."

Edward rolls his eyes and nudges Carlisle with his shoulder. "Alright, old man. Let's go put your money where your mouth is."


	6. Chapter 6

Weeks fade into the first three months of newborn life for Esme and though the memory of Charles that day may have been the first indication Carlisle had as to her past, by no means is it the last. The next episode surfaces the night of a terrible storm. Lightning flashes overhead and the thunder follows to shuddering quakes, shaking the house to its very core.

The sound triggers a memory from the depths of her mind. Carlisle imagines it has the same gritty look, like resurrecting a faded picture; at least, that's how she has described to him in the waning daylight hours, when they walk alone in the woods. In that time he's come to understand that it isn't the vision in her mind, so much as the feeling it creates, that scares her. That drives her to fear a man that can no longer bring her harm.

A flush of cold air must creep upon her suddenly as she shivers and presses herself to the wall of the library, hands flattened by her sides, crushing the plaster beneath her palms.

"Esme," he says gently, attempting to call her back from the memory. He stands from the old oak desk in the corner, positioned by the window to make use of the daylight, and crosses the room. "You're safe, Esme."

Edward appears in the doorway suddenly, clutching a pile of sheet music. His face falls into anger and Carlisle wonders what he's seen in her mind. What torment has gripped her this time. He curls and uncurls his fist, desperate to keep his composure, to keep calm. To offer her the support he so desperately wants to.

Edward bows his head as Esme flees the room, locking herself upstairs. She cries this time. A heartbreaking sound that she tries to muffle into her hands, but Carlisle finds it impossible to ignore.

Edward flees as well, a desperate attempt to escape Esme's thoughts, bursting through the back door so fast the screen pops from its frame. In his wake lies the scattered and torn remains of his sheet music.

Carlisle picks it up, laying the pieces gingerly across the top of the slick black piano that sits in the middle of what might have been the dining room in any other home. Edward had decided the acoustics were best in this room when they moved in.

He lays his hands flat against the piano top, trying to ground himself, torn between Esme, holed up in her room, sobbing into her hands, and Edward, angry and raging in the night. He can hear as his son crashes through the woods around the house, running to clear his mind, to clear the things that cannot be unseen. Carlisle is glad for this one mercy, for he simply could not bear Edward's burden, especially where Esme is concerned, and his sympathy for his son grows.

He leaves them both for a time, letting them process. The early years of a vampire's life are filled with strong and sometimes overwhelming emotions. He remembers being that way. Remembers throwing himself from rooftops and off cliffs to try to rectify the morose feelings inside him. But he also remembers wishing there was someone there in his early days. Someone who could have helped guide him through the fog that so often plagued his mind.

So, he goes to Edward first, knowing that Esme's flee was a cry for privacy. And he'll give her that. Let her mourn the memory on her own and then he'll be waiting for her.

Outside Edward has stopped running and taken to throwing rather large stones into the creek bed on the edge of the property line. The rocks shatter in the shallow water, tossing up dirt that streaks Edward's porcelain skin, only to be melted away by the sheeting rain. Lightning strikes overhead again, further as the storm draws away, but for a moment Edward looks wild in the moonlight, untamed and fierce.

Carlisle moves towards him in silence, the rain muffling his steps, each pearly bead soaking into his clothes and settling upon his skin. Edward will have noticed his scent by now, never mind his thoughts, so his words are unnecessary.

"I don't want to talk," Edward says, letting a rock fly. It crashes into a tree on the other side of the creek, pulling branches down with it.

 _We don't have to_ , Carlisle thinks. _We can't just sit_.

Edward sneers. "I don't want to sit either!"

With that he's off and running again, chasing a freedom he'll never find. Carlisle crouches on the edge of the creek bed, letting the trickle of water calm his racing thoughts. He trains his ears towards the house. He can still hear Esme over the rain, though her sobs have lessened some. There's an odd pain in his chest as he thinks about her. About the divide he feels being outside when all he wants is to crawl up the stairs and sit outside her bedroom until she agrees to talk to him. But he's promised himself to give her privacy, to let her come to him on her own terms. He won't be like Charles; he won't force her into anything.

When the sky turns grey and the stars begin to fade into hues of midnight blue, Edward stops racing himself and comes to stand at the creek. The water is higher now, though the rain has stopped.

"He didn't just hit her, Carlisle. He . . . he—" Edward cries out into the last of the night, frustrated with himself.

"Son, it's okay." He stands up and pulls Edward to him. "You don't have to explain. I suspected as much."

Edward grits his teeth. "Can we kill him now?"

"Son—"

"Surely the world would be better off without a man like that. I'll do it if you cannot, Carlisle. I know how sacred you think human life is. Please don't think I disregard what you have taught me. I just simply cannot see how I can leave this man alive." He shakes his head, jaw pinched tight as he grinds his teeth. "Not now."

"Please don't."

They both turn to find Esme, standing nervously by a tree. She gestures awkwardly to the house. "I came down and everyone was gone . . . I didn't . . . I mean." She tips her head and shrugs, both hands coming up before she folds them against her stomach.

Carlisle wonders if she has any idea how endearing she is. How much he wants to wash away everything of her past. How glad he is that she's returned to them.

Esme moves her head gently, and Carlisle realizes that Edward has started to shake beside him.

"He's not worth it, Edward," she tells him.

The boy looks hard at the ground, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Esme—"

"You are good," she argues. "And pure. Don't let him taint you. Not for me. Promise."

 _Not for me_. Those words wound Carlisle more than she will ever know.

"Please don't fret, Esme." He holds his hand out to her and she takes it, wrapping both her small hands around his. Even that small touch from her is enough to calm him immensely. To settle the concern and anxiety that has been roiling inside his gut as he contemplated how to help her.

Together they return to the house. Edward sifts through his abandoned sheet music and begins to play. The melody is light and makes Esme smile.

It is only later, when Carlisle is able to pull himself away from the sight, that he realizes that Edward never promised not to kill Charles Evenson. And as he meets the boy's gaze over the top of the piano, Edward's stare is blank.


	7. Chapter 7

The third month becomes the fourth, while the fourth bleeds into the fifth, bringing with it the first snowfall of winter. It also brings Esme's first accident.

Drawn out by the snow, by the utter beauty and majesty of the forest blanketed by the white silence, she ventures away from the house without an escort. She doesn't go far, but the human hunts deep into their land, and Esme is unprepared for it when it happens.

Edward leaps from his piano bench, tearing across the room before Carlisle has even formed the question.

"Human," is all Edward manages before he's across the field at the back of the house. A gunshot rings out, cutting through the air.

Carlisle follows quickly, tracing Edward's scent. The boy is fast; much faster than him, but it doesn't take him long to come upon the scene of utter devastation. Esme kneels in the snow, white puffs of crystal curling around her legs, soaking the bottom of her skirt. She's barefoot again, preferring it to shoes.

In her arms she clutches the leeched body of a human man, his rifle abandoned several feet away. His face is pale; blue lips open around a slackened jaw.

Esme's hands cradle his head against her chest as she rocks, dry sobs shaking her shoulders.

She curls in on herself. "I'm sorry," she says, panic rising in her voice. The sound is desperate and chilled, like a wounded animal, whistled through pleading lips. "I didn't. I don't know what came over me . . . I don't even remember—" She sobs, looking first to Edward, then to Carlisle, holding his eyes the longest. "I'm sorry."

"It was an accident," Edward assures her. "I should have been paying better attention."

"No," Carlisle says. "It's my fault. I should have accompanied her."

"I'm sorry," Esme says again, rocking forwards with the body. The gash along the man's neck is crusted with blood and snow. Around her the slush is tinged pink.

"Esme," Edward says gently, falling to his knees before her. "Let go of him. Let me bury him. I'll take care of it." His brow furrows as Esme looks up, distraught and wild, the breath catching in her lungs. She apologizes again in a long stream of _I'm sorry_.

When Edward finally manages to pry the body away, Carlisle moves to her side. He cringes when Esme flinches at the feel of his hand on her shoulder.

After that she's limp and unfazed by his presence, mumbling again. _I'm sorry_. He tilts her face to him and her eyes glaze over.

"Come up to the house, Esme."

When she refuses to move he does the only thing he can and picks her up, carrying her much like that first night. Edward returns to the house later with dirt beneath his fingernails, long after Esme has sequestered herself in her room.

"No one will find him," Edward says. "But perhaps I could find out who his family is. They might need help getting through the winter."

"I'm sure Esme would appreciate that, son." Carlisle looks despondently at the stairs.

"She thinks you'll turn her away from us now," Edward whispers.

"How could she?" he asks, threading his fingers through his hair, leaving it in disarray on the top of his head.

"Think about it, Carlisle. She lived her whole life trying to please a man that took any opportunity to punish her." Edward sighs. "She feels inadequate now. Your control is unparalleled among our kind and I've never slipped before. She feels unworthy."

Carlisle hates that word. What it does to her. "Will she see me now? If I go to her?"

Edward shakes his head. "I don't know. She can't bear the thought of what you think of her right now, but she doesn't want to be alone." He frowns. "At least, I think. She's very distraught. It's hard to get a proper read."

Carlisle nods. "I'm going to telephone the hospital and tell them to cover my shift tonight."

"Do you think we'll have to move?" Edward asks.

Carlisle hesitates. The man was unfamiliar to him, so no one prominent from Ashland, but the populous is small. Disappearances tend not to go unnoticed. They had been lucky with Esme. As a single woman, who was relatively new to the area, she was tied less tightly to the town. In the weeks following her disappearance, townsfolk assumed she had picked up and let for a place with more opportunity. Or taken her child in the night and fled with some clandestine romantic partner. A working man, though. Someone who most likely had a family to support. That would be harder to explain. "It is too soon to tell," Carlisle admits. The ramifications of this slip will only reveal themselves with time.

Edward nods. "I'll go into town tomorrow and see what I can hear."

Carlisle nods and turns away to use the telephone in the front hallway. Once he's spoken to the operator, he ascends the stairs, feeling more and more anxious. He can't imagine what she's feeling, never having experienced it himself, but he aches for her, for the pain she suffers, and he knows then that she is inherently good. Most vampires feed from humans, and most never feel an ounce of remorse for their victims. Esme is different. If it wasn't for the fact that her heart was already dead, he might fear that it would break with her sadness.

"Esme," he says once he reaches the top landing. He stops by her door and knocks twice.

There's no answer at first and he considers breaking the lock: just wrapping his hand around it and crushing it between his fingers.

He tries again.

He can hear her shuffle on the other side of the door this time.

"Do you hate me terribly?" she asks through the door.

He can almost imagine her there, pressing her palm against it. Her caramel hair rolling in gentle waves down her back. Her dress, soft against her skin, plastered with congealed blood to her legs. And her eyes, bright now with human blood.

"I could never," he tells her sincerely. He wishes she would open the door so he could tell her to her face, so she could look in to his eyes as he promises to do better by her.

"You should," she says in reply.

He lays his palm against the door, hovering where he imagines hers might be. "But I won't."

* * *

Month eight brings with it the first buds of spring.

They've started venturing closer to town now, testing Esme in order to build up her tolerance to the scent of humans. She has not forgotten that day in the woods, but she has made amends with herself and vowed to do better, to control herself as he and Edward do, and so far she is doing marvelously.

Now that she can control herself better, she picks up a paintbrush for the first time since she was human. Over the months, she covers many canvases, reveling in the detail her new vampire eyes can see and how well it translates into her paintings. Carlisle marvels at being able to bring her things to paint. Sometimes he'll tell her of the far off lands he's seen, bringing her new oils to create these pictures. Sometimes they'll venture into the woods together as she hunts for inspiration.

Edward is rather impressed with her. He also takes interest in Esme's hidden math talent. It emerges one day when she unearths some blueprints of the house from one of the lesser used bedrooms.

After that Edward takes to bringing her books from the library. Books on math and numbers. Books on architecture. Books on houses. He goes as far as to tell her that they both one day might take classes at the local college together.

This makes her smile, genuinely, and if it's education she desires, Carlisle vows to give it to her.

Over the months, Esme begins adding little bits of home to their house, renovating and repairing, painting walls, sanding baseboards, adding bundles of flowers to the empty vases on the mantle. She revives the plants in the gardens around the house and Carlisle often finds her there, barefoot and covered in dirt, when he returns from the hospital in the early morning.

It brings him a kind of happiness he never knew he wanted, coming home to her, seeing her. Even being in the same room as her gives him a sense of overwhelming peace.

But the more time he spends with Esme, the harder he finds it is to leave her side. Even the hospital, which has been his solace over the decades, pales in comparison to her company. So that is where he finds himself this warm Sunday afternoon, curled up on the sofa in his study, with Esme by his side.

She's brought him one of the Latin fairytales from the library and begged him to read it. Unable to deny her anything, he'd happily put away his journal and welcomed her by his side, feeling a kind of indescribable joy when she'd tipped her head onto his shoulder.

The moment is broken suddenly by Edward's frantic calls, and Carlisle realizes just how far away he'd been in his thoughts.

"Carlisle!" the boy yells again, appearing in the open doorway. "There's someone coming for your help. A group of hunters from the town. Someone's been shot."

And as Carlisle stands, he can hear the heavy panting coming down the drive.

Esme has stilled beside him and ever so slowly her head turns towards the open window. She inhales sharply and Carlisle realizes his mistake.

"Esme, no!" Carlisle says, catching her as she lunges for the door. She's faster still, and stronger, though she hesitates for the smallest of seconds and he's able to wrap his hand around her forearm. In this moment, she looks up at him and he can see the frenzy in her eyes, feel his feet slipping as her newborn strength overpowers her senses. "Fight it, Esme," he says through gritted teeth.

She throws him off then and he feels his feet leave the ground before he rights himself and lands with a soft thud.

Edward is almost as fast as her now, and heads her off, taking the back stairwell. He launches himself over the banister and drives himself into Esme. When they land, he wraps his arms around her waist, hauling her away from the door. "Hold your breath, Esme," he begs, fumbling as she struggles.

Carlisle joins them then and it takes them both to wrestle her into the kitchen. To calm her down. Behind the blood-lust she's terrified and when she manages to pull herself from the frenzy she lets out a helpless sob. "No," she murmurs.

"They're almost here," Edward says, looking frantically from Esme to the door, then back to Carlisle.

"You're doing wonderfully," Carlisle assures her, rubbing her arm gently. "Just don't breathe until they're gone. I'll try to be fast." He glances at Edward quickly, who nods, and Carlisle prays, for Esme's sake more than anything, that she doesn't fall victim to the scent. He couldn't bare to see her so distraught again.

* * *

When Carlisle returns, he washes his hands in the sink and burns his shirt, changing into a clean one that he buttons and tucks into his trousers. Once the blood is gone he finds Edward at his piano, plucking haplessly at the keys and he suspects that the boy is listening for Esme more than anything.

"Was it bad?" Edward wonders, letting a hollow cord float around the room.

"A through and through," Carlisle says. "He'll have to rest his shoulder for a while, but he was lucky." A pause "Where is Esme?"

"Upstairs in her room. She's rather shaken. The loss of control doesn't get any easier and I think it's scared her."

Carlisle looks towards the stairs. "Would she mind company?"

"Does she ever mind _your_ company?" Edward teases. He presses his fingers into a new cord, this one sounding brighter.

Carlisle can't help but smile at his words.

"Besides, women have a tendency of letting you know exactly how they feel. And in Esme's case she could literally throw you from the room. So you'll know if you're not wanted."

"I think you're picking the brain of all the luncheon ladies again, son."

Edward gives him a wicked grin. "How else am I to keep up with all the latest gossip?"

Carlisle shakes his head, looking back at Edward fondly as he ascends the stairs; Edward's music picks up as he reaches the top of the landing and he thinks it's the boys way of trying to give them some privacy. Either way, he appreciates the effort.

He knocks gently and hovers in the doorway when the door creaks open to reveal Esme seated on her bed, clutching one of the downy pillows to her stomach. She stares forlornly at the window.

"Did I hurt you?" she asks.

Carlisle's mouth falls open, but no words emerge. He's struck dumb by her concern for his welfare. _Him_.

"When I tossed you," she explains, perhaps registering his look of confusion, staring at him so tenderly he can do nothing but sigh. "I'm a great deal stronger than I used to be. So much so that sometimes it scares me. I could hurt someone on accident, you or Edward, even. I almost did today."

"You did not hurt me, Esme. Please know that. Your reaction was instinctual, but at no time was I, nor Edward, in any danger." He tips his head and gives her a grin, hoping to soften her worry.

"You're not just saying that, are you?" She hugs the pillow tighter, looking down at her finger nails. "Sometimes you say things to spare my feelings, Carlisle. I know you do, and I appreciate your concern, but I threw you—"

He chuckles.

She pauses, looking up at him. "What's so funny."

"Nothing, really. It's just, I think my mild manners and perhaps even my profession tend to erase what is so blatantly obvious to me—the fact that I am indeed a vampire."

Esme raises a delicate brow and he continues.

"I may not look it, but I have lived many, _many_ " he smiles wryly, "years on this earth. In that time I have learned to fend for myself. If you had in fact meant me any harm, Esme, I would have been able to defend myself. I do not often speak of it, for I hope better for our kind, but the life of a vampire is often vicious and over almost as quickly as it begins. Our kind tend to be territorial. We fight to kill. To protect what is ours. And the longer we've been immortal, the more proficient, and, dare I say it, deadly we are. Even a newborn, with superior strength and speed, is no match for a seasoned vampire. Especially when they are so often wild and ignorant and impulsive."

Her lips turn up at that. "So you find me wild and ignorant and impulsive?"

He knows she teases him, and cannot resist teasing her back. "Most definitely. You are even more wild then Edward was, living as a newborn in the middle of Chicago."

"That must have been a disaster," Esme muses.

"I admit I had not thought it through. It had been so long since I'd been around a newborn. The mind reading only compounded issues."

"Did you have to smuggle him out of the city in the dead of night?"

Carlisle laughs. "Very much so. It was every bit as nerve wrecking as you could imagine. I believe Edward thinks quite fondly of it now, however. He refers to something as my 'terror face' when he speaks of it."

Esme's smile widens, until her dimples are visible, and Carlisle feels a kind of victorious roar erupt in his chest.

"May I?" he asks, gesturing inside her room and she nods.

He hesitates slightly, unsure of where to move to. He feels awkward just standing in the middle of the room, but the only place to sit is the bed, right next to her. She wiggles a bit, making room for him, and that seems to eliminate his decision.

He's never sat on a bed with a woman before, not one that isn't a hospital bed, and even that's been rare.

"Did he survive?" Esme asks. "The man that came to the house?"

"Oh, yes," Carlisle says. "I believe he'll make a full recovery." He presses his hands to his knees, rubbing at them awkwardly. There's a sense of propriety he feels like he's breaking, though he doesn't mind in the least. He'd hug her now if she'd let him. Scoop her into his arms and . . .

For a moment, these thoughts shock him, because he's never felt that particular way about a woman before either.

Perhaps it's born of some need to protect her, as her creator, though he seeks to protect and shelter Edward as well, but with Esme it's different. He wants to comfort her. He doesn't just want her to be happy, he wants to _make_ her happy.

He wants to be the reason she smiles and laughs and he just wants _her_. In some fantastical kind of way. He wants her questions and curiosities and pain and frustration. He wants her happiest moments. He wants her wonder at the world.

It all hits him so fast that he almost launches off the bed. At the very least he tries to stand and goes stumbling instead and she reaches out, her hand pressing against his upper arm. Steadying. Supporting.

"Carlisle," she says quickly. "Are you alright?"

And what a ridiculous question it is, as if he's feeling unwell or something. A vampire cannot be unwell. It's simply impossible. But if he were to describe it, the sudden lightheadedness he feels. The buzzing in his gut. The jitteriness of his limbs. Something is definitely wrong with him.

He looks towards her, caught off guard at how acutely she affects him. He wants her, with every fiber of his being, but he has no idea if she wants him in return. If she even wants to stay here, under the same roof as he and Edward.

She'll be a year old soon. And then . . . well, if she can control her blood lust perhaps she'll choose to leave. Choose to explore the world far away from him. The idea causes him a sort of pain he imagined was impossible for his kind.

"Carlisle?" she says again and he realizes he's been staring and gaping and probably looking quite strange as he contemplates the things in his head.

"Yes," he says. "I'm quite alright."

She nods, unsure.

He takes a step towards the bed again. "You did very well today," he says, grabbing her hands in his because he simply can't resist touching her anymore.

She turns her head away. "Please, Carlisle."

"I sincerely mean it. You were a wonder. You were able to gain control of yourself once we were in the kitchen. You didn't want to kill that man, did you Esme?"

"No," she says. "I didn't. I wanted the blood. But I didn't want to kill him. I knew that much."

Carlisle nods. "You've really come so far in such a short amount of time. I am proud of you."

Esme slowly turns towards him, a genuine smile on her lips. "Thank you."

"I have to get to work soon," he says when the silence has lingered for many minutes. He's still holding her hands and revels in the fact that she has yet to pull away.

"I know." She sighs.

Does he detect longing there? Or is he simply projecting now?

Has he been reduced to some quivering fifteen year old who can't control himself around a pretty woman? A beautiful woman, actually. He's struggled not to think of her that way, to let himself grow attached; standing before her now, her hands in his, the fact of the matter is that he's lost himself to her. To her charms, to her quite, unassuming grace, and even to her love of the simplicity in the world.

But mostly, he realizes with a sudden sharp and relieving clarity, he's lost himself to her heart.


	8. Chapter 8

When Carlisle leaves for the hospital that evening Esme finds herself in a strange kind of place. She moves to the porch that stretches around the back of the property and sits down on the bottom most step, letting the grass graze along her bare feet.

There's plants that need to be pruned in the gardens and an empty white wall on the new garden shed that needs a fresh coat of paint, but she can't seem to bring herself to focus on these little projects. Not for very long anyway.

She's in a contemplative mood tonight, which Edward must sense, because he keeps his distance, playing gently on the piano; he's close enough to watch her, but far enough away to give her his version of privacy which she appreciates because her thoughts seem to drift to Carlisle far more often than she thinks is appropriate.

But something's changed between them. It's been changing for a while now, she supposes; though, perhaps it is simply her that has changed.

For this reason, she's uncertain of these things she feels; there are butterflies that can surely no longer exist in this new, unmoving, unchanging body, that continue to beat in her belly as an anxious swarm of nerves whenever he is near. Perhaps they are more like moths now, pale and dusty, beating their leathery wings upon her hardened skin, but still very much alive whenever she thinks of him. Or when his fingertips linger against her skin, his touch so very gentle. Or when she finds herself lost in that soft, golden gaze. The sound of his voice, gravely and tender, as he reads to her in Italian. The way he rolls his sleeves to his forearms when he returns from the hospital, sitting across the chessboard from her with a teasing smile. It's the little things. It's everything. She shakes her head, pressing the tips of her fingers against her closed eyes.

Is it possible for a vampire to be overwhelmed? To feel so completely out of control?

It's true that she holds a certain fondness for the doctor. A kind of girlish fantasy has plagued her since the early days of her youth, since that fateful day in the tree, but there's an intensity that is quickly replacing these memories.

He is no longer simply Doctor Cullen, but Carlisle; no longer a dream but a very constant, very present reality. That's what it is, she thinks, the fact that he has become so very real to her. Before he existed only as a dream, something she wished for, but would never—could never—dare to have. And now she simply cannot find it inside herself to sort through the barrage of emotions.

It's pure and utter elation that she feels when he's near, and a kind of dragging loneliness that exists when he's away from her. But what this means she does not know, because she was certain she loved him, as a girl, as that child in the hospital bed; but, many years have passed now and she has lived through the trials of many terrible things. Things that have tested and tormented her love and the utter unrepentant ease with which she lends out her heart. After all this time she can see that the things she was meant to love both began and ended in tragedy. First with her parents and Charles. Then her son.

Surely Carlisle cannot become one of these things that turns her love against her. She sighs then, pulling her arms around herself, standing from the step and venturing into the yard as the sky becomes the darkest kind of black.

She walks for a long time, skirting the edge of the treeline. She can smell a herd of deer, not far into the trees, but she's not thirsty. Not really.

When the sky turns from black to blue and then green on the edge of the horizon where the sun will soon rise, she returns to the house, climbing up the porch steps. She moves inside and closes the door softly behind her. Maybe a kind of fondness for Carlisle is all she is meant to have in this life. In the end, maybe it is better that way. Because if she's learned anything, it's that loving someone is giving them the ability to destroy you and it has destroyed her, time and time again.

Edward looks up from his piano, a stricken kind of frown creating a deep canyon between his eyes.

She apologizes with a soft smile and kind words in her head. He's far too young to look so serious. Far too handsome to be so worried.

When his frown lifts a little, she knows he is listening and she works harder to move these heavy thoughts to the back of her mind. Instead she returns her focus to her plans for the flower garden she's been considering for the south side of the house. The sun touches the land just right there and the space seems so sparse without one. Perhaps a garden would be just the right thing to liven the area. She wonders if Carlisle would mind?

Edward's piano playing picks up to something quite joyful and she takes this as a go ahead.

For the rest of the early morning hours she plans, spread out at the kitchen table. The one that is used for just about everything other than eating. Right now it is her studio. She sketches on thin scraps of paper, organizing and arranging and drawing all assortments of flowers.

"These are lovely," Carlisle says of her work and she looks up, not having heard him come in. She was so absorbed in her work she did not even register him put his briefcase down in the hallway. Subconsciously she must have known. Some part of this new body knew he was there and yet, here he stands, making her momentarily speechless.

She blinks once. Twice. A warmth spreads through her chest. She's missed him terribly and despite the flurry of butterflies that she tries to stamp down, she can't help but feel a sense of wholeness having him near.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he says with a soft smile, laying her papers back down. He sits down next to her. "Though I believe you are the only vampire in history who I have been able to sneak up on."

"A fatal flaw?" she asks, with only a hint of teasing.

"On the contrary," Carlisle says with a smile that's almost to himself, like he's just realized a secret. "It's quite endearing."

She hums softly, disbelieving, but he catches her hand, his so much larger, eclipsing hers. Her breath catches as his hand travels up her wrist, caressing her forearm and when she looks up at him, he doesn't seem to notice, lost in the feel of her skin or an errant thought perhaps.

He runs his hand back down, thumb dragging against her wrist. The tips of his fingers curl up to meet hers, automatically and without thought, like two magnets pulled together.

His brow furrows in response.

"Carlisle," she whispers. "What is it?"

"Have I been so obvious?" he asks, a wry smile curling the side of his mouth.

"You think with your eyes," she says. "All manner of things can be read from your face, once you know what to look for."

He contemplates her for a moment, perhaps wondering what exactly she reads from him now. Then he stands without releasing her hand. "I wish to ask something of you, Esme, but I don't want to seem presumptuous or make you feel obligated or . . ." His fingers tighten around hers.

"Ask," she tells him, both worried and curious now. Perhaps something's happened. Perhaps she's been spotted veering too close to the sun by someone in town or maybe . . . or maybe . . . Charles—

"Stay."

Her thoughts crash up against a blockade as she refocuses her attention. Her mouth opens and all she can manage is a befuddled sounding, "Pardon me?"

Carlisle swallows hard, his eyes suddenly flicking up to find hers. "When I brought you here, Esme . . . when I made you a vampire, I had no intention of making you stay. I told you this when you woke. I had taken your human death from you, and I had no intention of forcing myself into your life any further. No more than what you wanted, at least once your blood-lust had been controlled."

He looks to the window, staring out at the patch of blue sky that's broken through the clouds, painting the room in a lovely pale pink. He sighs and his voice is desperately quiet. "But now that your newborn year is approaching, now that you've come to learn how to control your thirst, I find myself terrified that you might leave. That you might want to move on." He looks right at her then. "And the more I think of it, the more I realize that I don't think I can be without you anymore. You've become something to me . . . something I'm very afraid to lose. So, please, whatever your plans are, don't go. At least not without Edward and I. We both want you here so desperately. I want you here.

"Carlisle—" she begins, though she's unsure of how to continue; a little tremble of awe is all she manages.

"Please," he begs. "I want to give you everything, Esme. Gardens and houses and books to press flowers in. I want to show you all the things you never seen, but only dreamed of. Operas and paintings and great artworks. I want to take you places. Anywhere you wish." He pulls her hand to his chest, holding it near his heart. "I want to learn your new dreams, the ones born of this life. And know that I will do everything in my power to make them happen."

As his words wash over her, the warmth in her chest spreads across her body, until she can feel the heat in her toes. Maybe it isn't only her that's changed after all. Maybe . . . he just might feel the same way. She'd very much like to take the time to find out and her smile is brilliant when she answers him. "I'd really like to stay. For as long as you'll have me in your family, I'd like to be apart of it."

In a moment of pure desire and utter happiness, Carlisle surges forward, dropping her hand and kissing her, his hands cupping her jaw, his lips pressed gently but firmly against hers. She gasps in surprise, but her hands come up to wrap around his and her eyelids flutter as he pulls away.

There's a kind of spark that jumps between them and the desire to pull herself back to him is intense. She doesn't fight it, just does what feels right, what feels good, and opens her mouth against his, her tongue brushing his lower lip. He responds eagerly and she finds herself standing, drawing him to her, then towards the table, crawling into his lap once she's reversed their positions; one of his hands wrap around her waist as she moves to explore his mouth.

She pulls away suddenly, breathless and somewhat embarrassed because what is she doing? Climbing all over him?

He looks momentarily shell-shocked, his hair a mess from her fingers. Then he chuckles as she presses her fingertips to her lips; she joins in with his laughter. "I've wanted to do that for a long time," he says.

"Why didn't you?"

"Because . . . I was afraid you'd leave," he tells her honestly. "And it would have broken me."

The vulnerability in his gaze is enough to shatter her. She wants to wrap him up, to hold him close enough to keep him together, even if he should shatter in her arms. "I'm not going anywhere," she promises, "as I don't think I can be without you either."

"Good," he says, nuzzling her nose and pushing her hair behind her ears with a smile that dazzles her, "because I'd very much like to court you."

He looks to her then, waiting for an answer.

She smiles, wide and unwavering. "I'd like that very much."

From the other room the piano slows to a stop and Edward mutters, "Finally."


	9. Chapter 9

It's been almost two weeks since that day in the kitchen and Carlisle sometimes wonders if he's indeed lost his mind. He spent so much time alone over the centuries, that now that there's this person—this woman—who wants to get to know him the way he wants to know her, well, it's so utterly wonderful, he almost can't wrap his mind around it. Almost.

When she agreed to court him that day, when she kissed him, he felt as if he had been waiting for her specifically. And that thought made the last three hundred years entirely worth it. He would wait a thousand years for Esme, yet he's eternally grateful that he doesn't have to.

Though courting, Carlisle thinks, doesn't really entail with accuracy what is happening between him and Esme. Certainly a great deal has changed over the last three centuries in terms of courtship, but the basic fact of the matter is that vampirism changes a lot of these social customs. Surely he never thought he'd find himself living with a young, unmarried woman.

Or that he'd find himself inexplicably drawn to her.

But really, he can't imagine things any other way, and though he doesn't exactly take Esme out on the town, seeing as she's still working on her control, he does find himself spending far more time at her side. He tells her things, stories from his past, and he pulls threads of information from hers: things that make her happy, things she thought she had forgotten. He talks and he learns, filing away these little bits of her in a vault that has no lock. That he's free to examine any time he wishes.

He needs no excuse now to request her company. No false pretense with which to disguise his longing. It makes his feelings all the more bearable, knowing he can reach between them as they run through the woods and take her hand. So he does that and she comes to him eagerly, pressing close to his side as they slow.

Carlisle looks around, inhaling deeply. They've already hunted and instead spent the afternoon sprinting through the woods. The farther North they move the taller the trees grow, until they tower overhead, blocking out almost all the sunlight.

Esme looks at him, eager eyes wide and attentive. Then her gaze wanders and she grows playful, pulling out of his arms and jumping to the lowest of the branches above them, swinging up easily.

Carlisle laughs. "I see you've yet to lose your fondness for trees."

She smiles. "I can't resist really." She presses her hands against the trunk, running her hands over the ridges of the bark. "Plus it seems only fitting, seeing as it was a tree that first brought us together."

"That is true."

"Tell me again," she whispers, grinning as she climbs to another branch.

"Of that day?"

"Yes."

"But you have a perfect memory now. You know very well what I'll say," he tells her.

She leans over the branch to look down at him. Her hair tangles in pretty waves around her shoulders. "Oh, go on, Carlisle. Please?"

He laughs, unable to resist her. Shaking his head, he takes a measured step, then launches himself up the tree, landing expertly in a crouch beside her. She shuffles back, only the tiniest hint of surprise in her eyes as a smile breaks across her face.

"I thought you said tree climbing was for reckless young girls."

"Did I?" he teases. He leans towards her, until she's backed against the tree trunk and there is nowhere to escape to.

"Hmm," she mumbles, drawing his attention to her lips. "You did. That's what you said when you first told me the story of our meeting that day."

"Well," he says, inching closer. "Perhaps I forgot to mention one thing.

Her eyes flicker down, landing on his lips before returning to his eyes. "What's that?" she asks.

"That tree climbing is exclusively for reckless young girls and vampires."

"Then I suppose it's good I am a vampire then."

"I agree," Carlisle says, cornering her against the tree trunk and letting his hand fall to the curve of her hip. He can feel her sharp intake of breath. "Because you are very much a woman now. An incredibly beautiful one I might add."

She blinks, her lashes fluttering and before he can think too much of it, he tilts his head and kisses her. It's short and sweet, but takes his breath away all the same. Esme's hands wrap around his waist, holding him to her. As he pulls away, she looks higher, towards the tallest of the evergreens, the ones whose firs seem to reach the bottoms of the clouds, and the scene on her face is pure wonder.

She looks back at him, and perhaps it is just wishful thinking on his part, but her face never seems to lose that look of pure, unadulterated wonder.

She makes him feel alive, in so many ways he thought had been lost to him over the centuries.

He feels youthful and giddy. He feels powerful.

He feels desire.

Then she slips from his arms and scales another branch, following the path upwards.

Smiling, he chases her up the tree, jumping to another when the branches become too dainty.

She laughs at his pursuit, climbing until they can go no higher.

He stands, hand pressed to the trunk of a nearby tree, watching as she holds fast to the trunk of her own tree, glancing down, with a wondrous sigh. "I've never been so high before."

"You won't fall," he assures her.

"Do vampires not slip?"

"I suppose we could, if we were distracted, though that would take a lot."

"So I might then, under unlikely circumstances, just like I did as a girl?"

"No," he says.

"How can you be sure?"

"I would catch you."

She looks taken aback at the sincerity of his words. At the utter promise he has laced into them. No, it is not in her nature to slip, and even if she did, she would not be injured. But that is all irrelevant, because he would never let it happen. Not again.

She smiles then, but not a shy smile. That's the thing with Esme. Nothing ever feels awkward or forced. The silence that stretches between them is warm and gentle. Much like her. So he feels no shame in what he has admitted. Instead the twist of her lips is playful, and she crouches upon her branch, limbs tensed for only a second before she springs, easily clearing the distance between the two trees and landing alongside him.

Just as promised, he reaches an arm out, securing it around her as she lands. In turn both her arms reach for him, falling to his shoulders. She laughs jubilantly as she holds him to her and the feeling is unlike anything he's ever felt. She's giddy in his arms, twisting on this branch they share to look up at him. "You caught me," she says.

"I promised you, didn't I?"

He can feel the stretch of her ribs as she inhales deeply. "It's marvelous up here. I think I'd like to paint it." She looks up at him, her smile becoming tender. "May we stay awhile? I want to see what it looks like under the sunset."

Carlisle nods. "I'd like that."

So they sit, tucked up against the tree trunk, watching as the sun dips between the thin evergreen firs, painting the world in limes and turquoises and colours Esme points out that he's never noticed before.

There's much of the world he's learned to notice, only now that Esme has come into his life. And it's in that moment that he decides he can truly never be without her. He needs to tie himself to her in ways that mean forever, so that everyone will know when they look at her that she belongs to another. So that she knows she belongs to someone who will love her and cherish her the way she deserves. So that under God, they are one. Because yes, he does indeed love her. He can court her for days and weeks and months, but his feelings will not change.

He's fallen for her, and it doesn't matter who tries to catch him now, he will never stop.


	10. Chapter 10

As spring comes to an end, Carlisle receives a letter from Carmen and decides it's about time he take some extended vacation days from the hospital. The weather's getting fairer, the sun burning brighter and longer everyday, so it'll be nice to be somewhere he doesn't have to constantly worry about exposure for a while.

Plus, he's been thinking about taking Esme up North for several months now. She's been cooped up here long enough, and there's a small part of him that wants to introduce her to his friends. Wants to embed her into his life that much more. Wants the people he cares about to know he's found someone he wants by his side for this eternity they live.

Yes, they'll go to Alaska for a month. Maybe two. He knows Esme has always wanted to travel. So they might as well start in the North and work their way down.

Edward sits up from his chair as soon as Carlisle enters the room, reading the thoughts right out of his head. "That's a marvelous idea!" the boy declares.

"What is?" Esme asks, looking up over the top of her book. Her eyes are wide and lovely and Carlisle thinks he could spend hours just memorizing every intricate facet within.

Edward groans at his distraction and flops down next to Esme on the sofa, looking very much the part of the impatient teenager. "We're going to Alaska. Carlisle has friends there. A coven, just like us."

This intrigues Esme and she puts her book down, uncrossing her legs as she leans forward. "They hunt animals?"

Carlisle nods. "Yes. I'm sorry I haven't mentioned them before."

Esme dismisses his apology with a giddy wave, almost bouncing in her seat. "What's Alaska like?"

"You'll love the scenery," Edward says with boyish glee. He grabs her hand. "Come, let's go pack."

Carlisle watches the two disappear up the stairs and ruminates in the feeling. The glow that comes from making Esme happy. It's all he wants to do now. And he vows to never stop trying, no matter how long they live.

He can hear Edward digging through the closets upstairs, hoping to unearth the luggage and hurries up to help. Knowing Edward, he'll toss them all in a pair of shoes and be ushering them out the door without so much as a thought.

When he arrives in the spare bedroom however, it's to find Esme poking her finger through the moth holes on a worn out suitcase. "Oh, no. This won't do," she says.

Carlisle considers the sad state of the luggage. "We'll have to go to the store."

With a morose groan Edward flops down on the chaise by the window and throws his arm over his eyes. "This is taking forever," he declares.

Esme and Carlisle break into a duet of laughter at Edward's antics. "Alright," Carlisle concedes. "I'm going now. I'll stop by the hospital to inform them on my way back. We'll leave tonight, so you can stop being dramatic, son."

Edward grins under his arm, shooting Esme a wink.

* * *

They prepare to run to Alaska.

The same way they travel to most places.

"Shall we make another wager, Carlisle?" Edward asks, putting away the rest of his records.

Esme comes into the room and raises a delicate brow. Carlisle resists the urge to kiss her and instead considers Edward's proposition. "And what would you ask this time?"

Edward laughs. "Is that you agreeing? Because we both know I'll win."

"Win what?" Esme asks.

"The first time Carlisle took me to visit Alaska we made it into a race."

"But you're so much faster," Esme protests with a grin. "That can't have been fair."

"Ah, but I had no idea where we were going. I had to make my way based on what I saw in Carlisle's mind. And don't let him fool you. The old man plays dirty. He started translating the Cyrillic alphabet as soon as we crossed the Canadian border to try and throw me off. I got turned around a few times. Needless to say, I scared the pants off Kate when I came barging through their front door."

" _Howling like a lunatic,_ if I recall her exact wording," Carlisle teases fondly. He had arrived just in time to stop Irina from throwing Edward off the porch.

"And so what did you win?" Esme wonders.

Edward gestures across the room. "My piano."

She smiles. "Then I'm glad you won."

"I agree," Carlisle says. "But you know, Esme may still beat us both there."

"Hardly," Edward grins. "I am once again the fastest vampire in the house." He bumps shoulders with Esme. "And it only took a year."

She grins at him, obviously resisting the urge to crush him in a hug.

Edward rolls his eyes. "You won't crush me anymore."

"Good," Esme says and she does just that, squeezing Edward with all her might. Carlisle can tell she's grown to love the boy over the past year and he's glad she had him to keep her company, especially when he had to be away for work. Edward doesn't even flinch, though he does indulge her long enough to hug her back before rushing around the house and locking up windows and doors in preparation for their absence.

"Kate will be able to give you a run for your money," Carlisle says as Edward leaps down the front steps.

He barks a laugh. "As if."

They run through the night; they have more freedom in the dark, being less careful with their path. As the sun rises they keep deep in the trees. It takes them longer to pick trails through the darkest parts of the forest, far from human hikers, but Carlisle doesn't mind.

Esme stops often, exploring brooks of tumbling water and caves etched into rocks. He can see her filing everything away for later, when she has her paints and brushes in her hands. She and Edward race each other up trees, and he's delighted to learn that although Esme is slower on the ground, she's faster than Edward in the air, more delicate as she slides between the branches.

At one point Edward drops from the trees, racing ahead. Carlisle stands in the middle of a dense thicket of pines, listening intensely. Esme is quiet above him and he wonders if she's stopped to watch him. He can still smell her scent, so he knows she hasn't left.

He hears the shift of wind from above suddenly and the next thing he knows, Esme is upon him, clinging tightly to his back. She laughs as he looks over his shoulder, his arms reaching back to hold her in place.

"Have I just been hunted?" he asks.

"Yes. I'm sorry to say you're mine now." She leans around him and lets her lips ghost across his cheek. She wraps her arms around his neck and breathes him in.

"I don't mind," Carlisle says, and it couldn't be closer to the truth. His hands rub against her dress, where it pulls tight against her thighs. He lets his fingers linger as she rests her chin on his shoulder, her hair like silk against his neck.

"You should mind," she says. "You may not know it, but I am a vampire."

"Hmm," Carlisle says. "A fearsome creature."

"Yes. And dangerous. You should be begging me for your freedom."

Carlisle shrugs her around to his front, until she's standing in the circle of his arms. "What if I don't want my freedom? What if I'm happy exactly where I am?"

"Staying will cost you," Esme says, her voice low.

"Whatever it is take it," Carlisle whispers. "Anything of mine is yours to have."

Esme grins, playful in a way he so rarely sees when they're trying to control themselves, especially for Edward's sake. But here they're entirely alone for the moment and Esme's arms tighten around his neck as she pulls herself to him, standing on her toes to reach her mouth to his. The kiss is warm and intense, quickly becoming a kind of fire Carlisle can't get enough of. He holds her by the waist, letting his tongue run along her bottom lip, swallowing the little moan that escapes her mouth.

It isn't until he feels something bounce off the back of his head that he stops. He looks down to see a sizable pinecone by his feet. "I think we've been found out," he says with a grin.

Esme shakes her head, looking dazed, hand on her cheek. "I suppose Edward wants to get going." She reaches up to peck him once more on the lips, then takes his hand and pulls him after her into the woods.

* * *

It's much later, when the day has turned to afternoon that they stop again.

"Carlisle," Edward says suddenly, skidding to such a hard stop that he leaves deep track marks in the dirt. The boy spins, twisting himself deeper into the mud. "There's someone here."

"Human?" Esme wonders, glancing quickly between the trees.

Edward's brows crush together. "I don't think so . . ." He glances around, eyes turning up to scan the tree tops. "It's fading in and out, like they're just on the edge of my radius."

Carlisle inhales deeply. "I don't smell anything yet. Perhaps we haven't crossed the scent. Shall we continue?"

Edward hesitates a moment, staring off into the distance, before nodding.

They run again, until a large herd of deer cross their path, and then they take advantage of the opportunity and split off to hunt. Esme darts to the left while Edward scales a tree. Carlisle makes use of the rocky overhang they've come upon and lies in wait for the largest of the herd to come running across his path.

When the sound of hooves are the loudest he jumps from his perch, landing expertly and snapping the animal's neck. He sees Edward land in his peripheries just as he leans down and cuts into a warm artery.

" _The golden-eyed female_ ," Edward mutters and Carlisle looks up from his buck, across the forest to where Edward had stood up, wiping his mouth on his shirt sleeve.

"What did you say?" Carlisle says

"It's back. The voice. _Golden-eyed female_. I just heard it." Edward turns on the spot, scanning the trees. "Where is Esme?"

Intuitively, like he's pulled by magnets, Carlisle turns in the direction he knows she was hunting, picking up her trail like it's his own scent.

He rushes to the edge of a glade, scanning the gentle sloping valley where Esme has taken down her second kill. She doesn't drain it though, simply crouches behind it as she stares across at the man who stands opposite her.

Carlisle watches as the stranger crosses through a patch of sunlight. His skin lights up in thousands of tiny diamonds before falling into shade once again.

"I knew someone was following us," Edward mutters beside him, but the only thing Carlisle can focus on is the overwhelming need to protect.

He rushes into the clearing, stopping, not beside Esme, but in front of her, falling into a defensive crouch, realizing suddenly that he is prepared to rip this vampire limb from limb. Those thoughts jar him slightly and he manages to stand, nodding as the stranger approaches.

"My name is Eli."

Carlisle nods, introducing himself.

"Is this your land then?" the nomad asks.

"We're only passing through," Carlisle says.

"Me as well. I picked up your scent earlier and thought I might have intruded into coven territory." His eyes flicker to Esme.

Behind Carlisle, Edward growls low in his throat.

"I was only curious," the nomad says, tilting his head to see her eyes. "I apologize for startling you. When I saw you take down the deer . . . though I guess that explains the eyes then."

"Yes," Carlisle says. "It's the diet."

"Fascinating," the nomad says. He gives a wry smile. "Though clearly not for everyone."

"Clearly," Edward mutters darkly.

With one last look at Esme, the nomad backs away towards the trees. "Well, I'll leave you to be on your way. It was a pleasure, Carlisle Cullen."

He vanishes into the trees and Edwards makes them wait until he can no longer hear the vampire's thoughts before he allows them to move. He groans and shakes his head, telling Carlisle he's heard things he wishes he hadn't, though he doesn't become angry, meaning that the thoughts have merely annoyed him.

Carlisle suspects they had to do with Esme. Coming upon a beautiful female vampire, he can only imagine what those thoughts might have entailed, but he forces them from his mind, along with the raging, jealous desire to destroy anything that may threaten Esme.

Jealousy is a new emotion for him and he doesn't quite know how to deal with it, so he ignores it instead, reaching out to pull Esme to him. She folds into his arms easily and he rests his chin atop her head.

Edward runs ahead to scout.

"I'm sorry," Carlisle says. "I should have been closer."

Esme shakes her head. "I'm fine. He startled me is all . . . his eyes. I've only ever seen red on myself. And I kept that to a minimum if I could help it. Looking at you and Edward all the time, I'm not used to how jarring it is."

She turns away from him before he can really look at her. Before he can see the lie in her eyes. "We should probably catch Edward," she says.

"Esme," he calls softly. "Please talk to me."

Her fists curl at her sides and she stares hard at the ground.

"I cannot be afraid of every man who is not you or Edward for the rest of my life," she says.

She's angry with herself, he realizes, for reacting the way she did. "You cannot berate yourself, darling. You've yet to meet another vampire other than us. It's instinctual to react with wariness."

She turns to look at him over her shoulder and he can see the uncertainty in her eyes. But she comes to him again, when he holds his hand out, taking it between both of hers. She stares down at his fingers, interlaced with hers, and sighs. "I'm sorry this has been difficult. You and me. And thank you for being so patient."

He shakes his head, because here he is, vibrating with an unseen rage because he stood between Esme and a strange vampire, prepared to dismember him on the spot for no apparent reason other than the fact he had approached her. He doesn't feel very patient at the moment, but he knows what she means and even that he cannot fault her for. "I would wait forever for you, Esme. You do know that, don't you?"

She sighs, smiling despite herself. "I might have guessed," she teases him, but it's missing that spark of her usual cheery self.

"What is it?" Carlisle asks, reaching up to cup her face, so she can no longer avoid his gaze.

It's only a moment before she breaks. "I was afraid," she confesses, the words rushing out of her. "Terrified really. I wasn't paying attention, I'd just taken down the doe and it was all I could do to focus, but the next thing I knew I was frozen. I smelled him first," her eyes flicker closed, "and then there he stood, before me, eyes red and curious and all I could do was stare." She shakes her head. "Here I am in this new body. Stronger and faster than anything I could have ever dreamed of, and yet I couldn't move. The more time that passes, the more I think I've forgotten those things in my past. And then it creeps up on me suddenly and I realize that Charles is still controlling me."

Carlisle fights the growl that rips up his throat, catching it before it can spill out.

He swallows hard, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. "You are stronger, Esme. And faster. And capable of so much more than you even know." He presses a kiss to her forehead. "But give yourself time. Your mind is just as powerful as the rest of you, it just needs some time to catch up." He runs his thumb across her temple. "One day Charles will not be here anymore. And until that time, I will be. Believe me."

She shudders against him, burying her head against his chest. "I do not deserve you, Carlisle Cullen."

"You do," he says, though he wants to shout it. "Because I deserve you. And I will continue to tell you until you believe that of me as well. Even if it takes forever."

Their moment is broken by the sound of Edward crashing through the trees which Carlisle knows it's intentional. "Hey slowpokes!" he calls. "I could have made it to Alaska and back by now. Come on!"

Esme laughs, real and hopeful, the worry and dread erased from her face and Carlisle silently thanks Edward. The boy appears, gives him a quick wink, and then cries out as Esme races ahead of him. "Cheater!" Edward calls.

All Carlisle can do is laugh.

* * *

The house in Alaska is long and sprawling, set into the snowy backdrop with columns of redwood framing the door. Esme's eyes grow wide as she takes in the sight and Carlisle wonders more and more if her proficiency with numbers and the intricate way she admires houses will translate into some sort of architecture degree when she is confident enough to go out into the world on her own.

He had a sneaking suspicion that she would fall in love with the Denali house, so he told her very little about it. Watching her light up as they draw near, mouth forming an adorable 'O' shape, is totally worth it.

Edward shakes his head at him before jogging back towards Esme. "This is nothing. Wait until you see the inside."

He jogs ahead then, running to greet their hosts who appear at the side of the house on the glass-railed porch. It's made of the same strong beams of wood, giving the entire place a majestic cabin like feel. If cabins were solitary winter mansions built by vampires near the arctic.

Edward launches himself from the ground and over the railing, landing delicately next to Carmen who wraps him in a hug.

Esme slows at that, noting for the first time the five vampires that line the porch.

"It's okay," Carlisle whispers, coming to stand behind her. He places both his hands on her shoulders, leaning so close to her ear that her hair brushes against his lips as he speaks. "You have nothing to fear here. The Denali's are some of my oldest friends."

Esme nods and reaches up to wrap her hand around his. He takes the hint and pulls her along at a more human speed, lacing their fingers tightly. Even as they reach the porch and he greets his old friends he holds her hand; he'd be lying if he said it didn't also bring him some sort of comfort and in a way it's easier this way, to let them know what Esme means to him.

As he expects, after he introduces Esme, she is welcomed easily, just as he knew she would be. It's impossible not to like her. Her soft, unassuming nature. Her natural warmth and tender-heart. Her shy wit and sense of humour. And judging by how quickly she befriends the Denali sisters, he'll be lucky if he gets to talk to her again before they leave.

In fact, after that moment, Esme is whisked away and it feels like days before he sees her again; when he checks his watch and considers the time he finds that it has indeed been that long. Without the hospital to keep him on schedule, not to mention the old friends who keep him busy here—Eleazar always has updates on the Volturri for him—time seems to slip away. It isn't a bad thing by any means, but he can feel a tender sort of ache in his chest. He knows it has to do with Esme's absence. That he's longing for her company. They may very well be residing in the same house, but being apart, even so much as in different rooms, creates a loneliness that he's only ever felt when he's stayed too long at the hospital, covering for physicians too sick to make it in. So he excuses himself from Eleazar's library, where Edward has holed himself up asking the man questions of the philosophical type, to go in search of her.

He wanders the wood-lined halls of the cavernous mansion, past rustic decor and through the seldom used dining room.

He finds the girls in the kitchen, seated upon silver legged stools, gossiping around the massive island. Esme sits in the middle of the foray, a brilliant smile on her face. She's missed this, he realizes. Female company. Despite how good she's become at being around humans these past couple of months, no human relationship will ever be like what she will have with the sisters or Carmen. There's so much about their world that must remain secret from the humans that it becomes very difficult to build any kind of meaningful relationship. He's learned this the hard way, spending many years in hospitals, being known by the masses, while not really getting to know them in return. In the end it's futile, for no matter how carefully vampires build their facade, the truth is that after so long humans pass away.

It disappoints him that he failed to think of this earlier. He'd been so caught up with helping Esme cope, that perhaps he failed to see that establishing relationships among their kind may have served to help her transition better into this world. Despite his and Edward's best attempts, there are, of course, some things that only women can understand.

"Esme," he interrupts, standing in the doorway. She looks over at him with a kind of warmth that makes him feel like he'll start to float. "Would you care to hunt? I thought I might venture out now."

He recognizes the moment she notices her thirst, having ignored it for longer than usual, distracted by her new surroundings and her new friends. He registers the slight discomfort on her face as she excuses herself from between Tanya and Kate.

"Don't steal her for too long," Tanya says, feigning a pout and shaking her curly blonde hair from her shoulders.

"I'll bring her back," Carlisle promises, though he has no intention of returning her in the immediate future. He reaches out his hand to Esme as she rounds the island. She accepts immediately and Carlisle tips his head to Irina and Kate. "Ladies," he says.

Irina waves them off. "There's a herd of elk to the North. But do show her something more interesting. Before your Edward mows down all the good carnivores in the area."

Carlisle chuckles. "He does enjoy hunting up here."

Carmen stands to usher them out the door. "Go, go. Enjoy. I'll make sure the boy doesn't create any endangered species while you're gone."

They don't have to venture far from the house before they come upon a pack of arctic wolves, their fur bright under the sun. The elk have moved further North, mostly likely as a result of these pursuing predators, but Esme is captivated all the same.

"Oh my," she says under her breath, crawling to the top of the snowy hill they've stopped beneath. She settles down in the snow, until her dress is caked in layers of white fluff. Carlisle realizes that she's never seen animals of this type, and not even her thirst can win out her insatiable curiosity for the beauty she finds before her. Her fingers twitch in the snow and he knows she's itching to sketch, committing the image to memory for later.

He settles down beside her, content when she leans against him. They stay that way for so long the edges of her dress start to turn to ice; despite this he doesn't disturb her, happy enough to sit in her company, memorizing the look of wonder on her face, perhaps preparing his own sketch for later.

"Can we hunt something else?" she asks him eventually. "I know how much you prefer a carnivore, but—" She trails off with a sigh. One of the wolves below lets out a long, majestic howl. It's answered from far away. "They really are marvelous, aren't they?"

Carlisle chuckles and offers her his hand. "Come," he says. "Edward has been wanting to show you a polar bear. I'm sure we'll find him out here somewhere."

* * *

As the days come and go, Esme's spirits continue to brighten in the company of the Denali's and Carlisle almost wonders if she's forgotten that moment in the woods. He knows she hasn't, not really, but her mind is occupied otherwise and for that he's glad.

He on the other hand has had plenty of time to consider what happened, what she said, and how out of sorts he's felt because of it. It's been a long time since he's had feelings as intense as the ones Esme makes him feel. There's a chaos to it that makes him nervous, almost as if the last few centuries of perfect self control could be foiled by the restrained strength that brews beneath his skin.

It doesn't take long for his friends to search him out about his contemplative mood and he spends a long afternoon in the company of Eleazar and Carmen, telling them of the nomad and of the utter terror he felt in his gut watching him size up Esme. Even as a newborn, possessing all her immortal strength, he would have feared for her, but especially now that the year has come and gone; it's become apparent to both him and Edward how much weaker Esme is physically.

It had happened one day weeks ago. A man had come to the house, calling for Carlisle, and on instinct, he'd reached out to grab Esme's arm. Instead of being distracted by the human blood like he'd expected, she'd flinched under the force of his touch, gasping and pulling her arm towards her body. She had not even needed to whisper in pain. The look on her face—even for the split second it had taken her to rearrange her features—told him clearly that he had hurt her.

He'd been so distraught with himself. A sudden wave of grief overtook him as he felt every bit the monster that her last husband had been. Knowing if she could bruise that there would be marks on her arm now, ones that would match those that vile man had left for years was enough to make him feel ill. An entirely foreign concept, but so apt in that moment it had rendered him both horrified and speechless. So much so that Edward had taken the initiative to answer the door, turning the man away with the promise to pass along a message.

He'd been shaken when he realized how easily he could now overpower her. He'd always tried to be conscious of her past, of these things that might trigger her. But he'd not known. When he'd reach out, he'd grasped her out of fear.

"Why didn't you say something?" Carlisle had said. He had to work to keep from moaning the words out of distress. "Before now. If you'd noticed that your newborn strength was waning."

"I know you'd never hurt me," Esme had told him. "I know that. Besides, it was only because you thought I might react to the blood. Most of the time you're far more gentle with me." She had smiled at him, brushing her hand through the hair that fell against his forehead, trying to assuage his guilt.

Though it had been those words— _most of the time_ —that had given him pause for he never wanted to hurt her. Never wanted to be the reason she was in pain.

"Carlisle," she had said, admonishing him gently. "I'm not that breakable, really."

But that memory had stuck with him, and it wasn't until that moment in the field, watching the nomad stare her down, that he'd realized the true extent of what the end of her newborn year entailed.

Esme is far more vulnerable now, especially against their own kind.

"Well," Carmen says, smiling in a telling way at him. One that comes from years of experience. "You know what you must do now, correct?"

Eleazar nods. "You must teach her to fight. To defend herself at the very least."

Carlisle sighs. He doesn't want any part of Esme's life to revolve around violence, though he cannot stomach the thought of her in danger. "Yes," he agrees. "You're right."

Carmen pats his hand. "It's the only way you'll feel better. She means something very special to you, doesn't she?"

Carlisle nods.

Carmen beams. "I thought so. You've changed, old friend, though I'd say for the better. You seem much happier."

"She is a lovely woman," Eleazar says. "A perfect match in a mate if I've ever seen one."

Carlisle glances down from the balcony, to where Edward has just tackled Esme into the snow. She proceeds to dumps an armful of slush onto his head. "I'm going to marry her," he whispers.

"And you should," Carmen says, moving to stand close enough that their whispered words cannot be heard by any of the other women in the house. "Does she know?"

"That I love her so desperately? I hope she realizes. We've been moving slow. Tortuously it feels, sometimes, but her past was . . . difficult in many ways. I did not want her to feel rushed. I still worry that it's all too soon. She's barely out of her newborn phase as it is."

"I think you're doing a wonderful job, Carlisle. Both by Esme and Edward. Our kind usually cannot settle in covens of more than two or three. We seem to be an exception. But you, you haven't created a coven." Carmen nods down to the never ending hills of snow. "This is a family."

She's right, Carlisle thinks. And he must protect them. He looks to Eleazar. "How do I teach her to fight?"

Carmen raises an eyebrow. "The same way you did with Edward."

"I could not even pretend to strike her," Carlisle says. "Even in jest. Even knowing that no hit would land."

Eleazar claps him on the shoulder. "The girls will help. If anyone can teach Esme a thing or two, it's those three."

* * *

For the following week they practice. Tanya and Irina take turns engaging Esme in harmless wrestling matches, teaching her and honing innate vampire skills. Edward stands on the sidelines, cheering Esme on with unrestrained excitement. A few times he manages to convince both Carlisle and Eleazar to join in, but since Edward can pull things right out of their minds, they mostly spend the match chasing the boy around the field.

The rest of the time they leave the women to practice. At some point during the week, Carlisle takes up a spot on the porch where he can hover without Esme feeling overwhelmed. Edward joins him after awhile, watching as even Carmen takes a turn on the field. Esme improves quickly under the watchful eye of Kate. She never practices, but critiques Esme's form and offers ways to exploit weaknesses in her opponents.

"Do you not practice?" Esme asks her one day, when she's finally managed to best Tanya.

Kate gives her a wry smile and a wink. "I have a little extra power which means I don't have to worry about fighting as much."

Esme watches her curiously.

Beside him, Edward tenses and Carlisle gets to his feet, watching the two women below.

"Kate," Edward warns and Carlisle looks between him and Kate.

"I'll be gentle," Kate says with a grin, holding her hand up to Esme. "Here, let me show you."

Esme reaches out a finger, closing the distance. As Carlisle realizes what's about to happen he leaps from the porch and crosses the field, sliding in between the two woman. "I think that's enough for today," he murmurs, staring down at Kate's outstretched hand, his arms reaching behind him for Esme. He can feel her hand against his shoulder blade as she peers around his arm.

"You're no fun," Kate jokes. "I was on low. You can ask, Edward."

Esme frowns. "I don't understand."

Edward sighs at Kate, shaking his head before addressing Esme. "She has a penchant for electricity. And yes, if you're wondering, it does hurt. This is why we don't wrestle with Kate, because she cheats."

Kate shakes out her long hair and taps her temple. "No more than you do."

Edward smirks, crossing his arms against his chest. "Care to put it to the test?"

Kate waves him onto the field. "I won't go easy, you know."

Edward laughs. "I can take it."

Carlisle shakes his head, and presses a kiss to Esme's temple. Before they walk away, Kate calls out to him, a grin breaking across her face. "Love looks good on you, old friend. It gives me hope for the future."

Carlisle holds Esme tighter to him, smiling as they walk away and chuckling to himself when he hears Edward's groan and Kate's jubilant cheer of victory.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks to all of you who have read and reviewed so far! This story was born of some annoying plot bunnies about my favourite twilight couple that kept hopping around in my head. I think I originally intended to tell this story from mostly Esme's point of view, but somewhere along the way Carlisle snuck in and kind of hijacked it. The next chapter should take us back into Esme's view, though! I always thought Esme and Carlisle's love story was beautiful, and although Stephanie Meyer has said that upon waking Esme was quite content to find Carlisle again, I think she would have had a lot of emotional trauma to work through, even as a vampire, which I've tried to explore more in this story. Anyway, I love hearing from you, so drop me a comment if you want to talk about the story, the amazingness that is Carlisle/Esme in general (sassy, but sweet pre-Bella Edward), or even if you have any one-shots that you'd like to see worked into the story :D


	11. Chapter 11

After their months away in Alaska, they return to the sprawling mansion tucked away in the forests of Ashland. As Esme crests the edge of the forest, where earth becomes the lush, unkempt grass and lively gardens she feels almost as if she has returned to their home a different woman. Not different, per say, but there's a subtle kind of confidence that bleeds through her veins as she takes that first step. A confidence that spreads out from her, hidden, much like the sun, until the clouds move and the shimmer is revealed.

Most noticeably it's in this new body of hers. She can feel it in the way she moves now; she's less measured, less careful, less concerned with the ways in which she can interact with the world at large. Perhaps some of it has to do with the documented loss of her newborn strength, but she doesn't feel weaker in its absence. No, she feels empowered.

Maybe it's because of her new way of thinking and being and belonging to the world. She's come to see things about herself, about her relationship with both Edward and Carlisle, and how exactly they are all starting to fit together. And she's made new friends in the process. Good friends. One's who share this strange life, who struggle the same struggle, who have been living as such for centuries, long before even Carlisle. Women who understand her uncertainty and worries and longings. Friends who she's come to think of as family in the short amount of time that they spent together.

She knows she'll miss them dearly until they can all see each other again. Carmen, in particular, had become quite a confidant to her, which she can tell pleased Carlisle to no end. They had spent many long hours talking in the deep, snow covered woods, exploring the vast cut outs of mountainside, and he expressed to her how happy he was that she had become fond of his friends. That she had found happiness there.

She thinks she would have found happiness anywhere he was, simply because it was him she was with, but she'd let him revel in her good moods. Let him indulge her whims, if only because he seemed so ecstatic doing so. He'd followed her to the top of snowy peaks in the purple dawn just so she could see what the sun looked like as it first kissed the snow and he'd chased her to the edges of icy cliffs so she could see the last of the colour upon the horizon as the sun disappeared again.

He'd sat with her for hours, nothing but parchment and charcoal pencils between them. They'd hunted animals, but only so she could see them better, and let them flee again so she could find them another day.

And they'd climbed trees. The oldest and most sturdy among them. The one's that had braved the Alaskan winds and terrible storms. The one's that would still be there in a hundred years to come.

She'd stood on the tops of those trees and heard what her voice sounded like carried by the wind.

All of it, she'd done with Carlisle by her side, and she was quickly coming to see that her feelings for him had become tangled in her very soul. They had seeped into every conscious decision she made, and even those that were unconscious now. The way she gravitated to him in a room, the physical ache his absence created, the warmth that soothed her chest when she sensed he was near. These things had etched themselves into her very being, like her soul was making room for his, moulding and fitting and forming around another person so wholly she almost had trouble wrapping her mind around it.

Carlisle was so different from any man she had ever met, and he would forever be everything she could ever want. Knowing him back then, when she was a girl, he had been a calming sort of fantasy to her. An escape when her life was in ruins. But now, he was no fantasy. Now he was real and firm and bold against her lips. He was whispered words by candlelight. He was gentle fingers tracing her wrist. He was strength when she faltered and joy when she stood again. He was curious and searching and scholarly. Someone who, she supposes, would forever seek to know her, to understand her. He was . . . _she wanted him to be hers_. Desperately. Without question. Forever.

Alaska was everything that she needed and, in many ways, it had let her decide things that perhaps she had been toying with for some time, whether knowingly or not.

"I think being around the other women was good for you," Edward says as he lays their bags upon the table. They're mostly filled with souvenirs. Little bits of the wilderness that she found too dear not to bring home. Things that would remind her of Alaska.

Esme smiles, laying her hand upon his forearm. He's been privy to so much of her mind for so long now, it's a wonder the boy hasn't gone insane.

"You're not that bad," Edward murmurs kindly. "I rather enjoy the long conversations in your head. I always learn to think of the world in a way I hadn't before."

Carlisle returns with the post, sifting through letters. He glances between them curiously, but doesn't pry.

Edward sighs heavily then. "Besides, you being with us in Alaska this time occupied Tanya greatly, so that was a bonus and I owe you my undying gratitude for the rest of my immortal life." He makes a flourishing little bow.

Carlisle laughs. "She doesn't mean you any harm, son."

Esme hums, tilting her head delicately, her fingers drumming against her bottom lip. "She does quite fancy him, though."

Edward huffs at Carlisle. "See! I told you I wasn't making it up. And now, if you'll excuse me, I quite fancy myself some privacy so," he grins at Esme, "I'm going into town for a while to start researching the new automobile I want Carlisle to buy since I did, in fact, win the race to Alaska."

He disappears in a flash and Esme blinks. She's gotten used to Edward's odd behaviour to a degree. Knowing thoughts before the rest of the room often leaves him acting before others have even registered there is something to be acted upon, but his sudden disappearance still startles her in a way. They've barely settled in again.

"I'm not sure town in the best place to get some privacy," she muses. After all, the house is filled with automobile magazines. Surely Edward could find something to suit his fancy in what is already here.

"I think he was just being nice," Carlisle confesses. He drops a stack of letters upon his desk to be dealt with later and looks a her with the kind of gleam that makes the butterflies in her stomach waken and flutter up against her chest. He walks towards her and she's reminded suddenly of a predator on the prowl. Something lean and fast. A cat perhaps, like the mountain lions that stalk the caves to the North.

"Nice?" she prompts, finding herself stumbling against the chaise, reaching behind to catch herself or else tumble over the top of it. Carlisle makes her lose her senses sometimes. Utterly and completely. She wonders if with time she'll learn to handle herself better, but something tells her that his presence will always leave her somewhat clumsy, especially when he looks at her like that.

In ways that make her feel like she could fall from a cliff and soar.

He catches her in his arms before she can consider any more what will happen if she stumbles. His breath washes across her face, sweet and alluring, drawing her to look upon his face. The look in his eyes leaves her all but shaking and she clings to his sweater, feeling her nails split the fabric.

"Oops," she whispers, inspecting her work. "I didn't mean . . . you—" She looks back to him, noting his smile, less gentle than it is usually, and more deliberate. More instinctual.

He presses his face near hers, inhaling deeply, letting his nose skim her jaw line, then her ear, pressing a kiss where it meets the slope of her neck. His fingers get lost in her hair and she lets her eyes flutter closed. There's a heightened feeling to the sensations when she cannot see him, when she cannot know his next move, and it makes her feel like she might come apart at the seams. Like her vampire body might crack and implode from the inside out, raining crystal dust onto everything.

"Carlisle—" she whispers, feeling herself lose a little bit more control. The words come out as almost a growl and she cannot even take the time to be embarrassed before he's kissing her. Their lips meet like hot metal doused in water. There's a searing kind of pressure that holds them close, that fuses their lips and tongues. She feels his tongue taste the inside of her mouth and she melts, falling into him without thought.

Her hands trail up from his sweater and wrap around his collar, until she's yanking him down, closer to her. So close she doesn't have to stretch as much; close enough to give herself leverage. He's so tall, she thinks. So sturdy. But she's lithe and quick and bold in ways that surprise them both. She tugs on his collar, stepping off with one foot enough to unbalance them, and they both go tumbling to the chaise, over the pleated fabric arm and onto the soft cushions.

She gasps at the feel of his weight on her, not out of fear, but because of how right it feels. How much she wants to be this way with him, tangled and breathless and lost in a kind of desire that is both overwhelming and exhilarating.

She kisses him again, this time exploring his mouth, tasting and caressing and stealing the sounds that come up his throat, swallowing the whispers and praises and epiphanies he makes.

It's Carlisle who pulls away first. He doesn't scramble away the way propriety might suggest he does, but simply looks down at her, studying, assessing, like he's memorizing the look of her: clothes rumpled and hair tossed about without thought.

"I may have been thinking about how nice it is to be home, with just the three of us. And how nice it will be to have you to myself for a while," he says, squeezing her to him. She can feel the length of him against the length of her and it's intoxicating, enough to make her almost delirious. Dizzy in the way she gets when she looks into his eyes for too long. "That is why Edward left," he whispers.

"And what will you do with me all to yourself?" she asks, rubbing her nose along his cheek. His mouth runs along her neck, the edge of his teeth gently caressing her skin. He pauses midway, the place he bit her all those months ago, and the sensation is almost enough to bring her dead heart to life.

A violent surge of energy washes through her, heated and powerful, and it's _lust_ , she thinks. Desire. Want. No, it's need. Wicked and primal and only something she wants with this man. Only him. For eternity.

Their next kiss is fierce and windswept, and Esme holds firm to his collar, even as Carlisle moves to pull away. She makes a noise in the back of her throat as his lips fall to her jaw and before she knows it, she has her leg wrapped around his thigh, her fingers playing with the buttons on his collar, caressing the skin at the juncture that forms at the bottom of his neck.

She's become more adventurous, she thinks. More free with her movements, with letting her desire run away from her just a little. It's so easy with Carlisle. The affection comes so naturally that she often forgets that this is something she once feared from relationships. Everyday with him makes her a little bolder, shows her that things will be completely different this time.

She pulls away as her mind runs wild, breaking the kiss as she realizes her desire has leapt far ahead of where she's ready for them to be yet. It scares her, how very much she wants him, and she has to turn away to catch a breath she doesn't really need. She studies the edge of the chaise, the pale cream and rose-gold threads that weave together. The splintered, translucent fibres that stand alone where they've rubbed against it.

"Esme," Carlisle says from above her and it sounds like a prayer on his lips, the reverence held close, softly against his tongue, like he means to savour her very name. Like he means to lock it away forever. "Look at me," he whispers.

She does, eyes fluttering up to meet his, the warm gold looking like honey against the golden blonde of his hair. He's beautiful, really. A kind of goodness she's never really known, nor is she sure she deserves, but for some reason he thinks she's worthy.

Worthy of his attention. Of his compassion and kindness. And dare she say it, his love.

Yes, love.

She doesn't know how she loves so freely, the only thing she's sure of is that she loves _him_. This man who continues to save her. He sits up slowly, freeing her, and she props herself upon her elbows, tracing the tangles of her skirt.

"I don't know what I'm doing," she confesses.

Carlisle's tongue dances over his lips as he ponders her thought. "I'd say you do."

She grins up at him but shakes her head, pulling herself up to sit beside him. She smooths out her skirts as she collects her thoughts. His hand folds over hers to stop her unconscious movements, stopping to rest over her knee.

"I envy Edward sometimes," he says gently. "For moments like these, when I want to know what is going on inside that pretty head of yours."

Esme's lips twitch, not into a smile, but something else entirely. He looks at her with such longing. Such patient desire.

"I feel . . ." she begins, but loses the words. They don't seem right. "Well," she starts again, "I guess, what I mean is . . . it's not as if I'm naive to this." She gestures between them. "It's only that everything feels so easy with you. And I think about my mother and how scandalized she'd be to see me now. Barefoot and without my hair pins." She pulls her arms across her chest and hugs her elbows. "I'm not doing this right, am I? Not acting the lady that I'm meant to be. Is it terrible that I've completely ignored all societal conventions?"

Carlisle studies her for a long moment, brushing her hair behind her ear, letting his fingertips brush the bottom of her jaw as he pulls away.

"Esme, I wouldn't say very much is conventional about this relationship. In my experience, when two vampires find each other and share the kind of bond we do, the relationship exists beyond all of that. There's a greater bond that ties them together. One that succeeds all measures of time." He threads their fingers together. "But to speak to your concern, I'm the one who should apologize. I've done a terrible job of courting you so far. It's just that I find myself unable to stay away from you," he confesses. "And the closer I am the harder it is to resist. I just want to be with you, all the time."

"Your not the only one," she assures him, shifting closer. His thumb traces the lines on her palm and she lets her eyes flutter closed, smiling into the touch. "I've always liked being a little unconventional."

"Then marry me."

Her eyes fly open at that, taking in the breathtaking beauty that is his face through her shocked expression. She can see the look reflected in his eyes and she has the common decency to close her mouth after a period. "Carlisle—"

He shifts off the chaise before her, dropping down to one knee. "Esme Anne Platt, I'm a 287 year old vampire who's spent his life practicing medicine. I'm as unconventional as they come." She laughs at that, disbelief evident in the breathy sound. "In all that time I had never met anyone with whom I wanted to spend my life with and I feared it was my curse to spend it alone. But then I met you, Esme, and I cannot imagine this existence without you. I love you beyond what words can say and if my place is to be here forever, then I pray that it is with you by my side, as my wife."

He pulls the ring from his pocket and she glances down briefly, to rose-gold and intricately laid diamond, registering that this is really happening, before meeting his eyes once more.

Her brilliant smile must be answer enough, because he lets out a slow breath that sounds like relief, before grinning widely at her. "Is that a yes?" he says.

"Of course."

He slides the ring onto her finger, capturing her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. He presses kisses along her fingers, across her knuckles, and she's in his arms in an instant.

"Is this real?" she murmurs against him, resting her forehead against his own, letting the soft tufts of his hair slither through her fingers. "Tell me so," she pleads.

"It is real, my love. As real as anything has ever been in my life."

* * *

"Did she say yes then?" Edward wonders as he enters the house later that evening. Carlisle and Esme sit wrapped up on the sofa, a book held between them, though they haven't gotten much reading done as far as Esme's concerned.

She straightens up at his question, unable to move very far because of Carlisle's arm around her waist. As she thinks of it, his fingers tighten against her hip, holding her that much closer. "You knew?" she accuses of Edward, leaning back into the crook of Carlisle's arm.

"I had an inkling," Edward confesses. "But to be honest, I don't think even Carlisle knew he was going to propose today. He's been carrying that ring around for months."

"You have?" Esme asks, looking surprised.

Carlisle nods. "I was waiting for the right moment."

And with one look in his eyes she understands. He was not waiting for romance or candles or music. He was waiting for her. For her to be ready. To tell him she was ready. _Oh my_ , she thinks, _Mrs. Esme Cullen_. Her chest feels giddy at the thought, but so very ready.


	12. Chapter 12

The wonder of the engagement has yet to wear off for Esme when Edward proposes something she had yet to think about.

"We'll have to move of course," he says casually, looking up from his pile of records. He's bought some new ones, classical things he's been interested in, and he arranges them in neat piles by the gramophone.

"Hmm, yes," Carlisle agrees. He flips to the next page of his medical journal, marking something of particular interest with a fine-tipped ink pen.

"Oh, but why?" Esme asks, looking between them. It sounds as if it's already been decided, the two of them quite assured by one another and she wonders if she missed some important conversation.

"You haven't," Edward assures her, brows twisted as he filters through her thoughts.

Carlisle stands at the perplexed look on her face, abandoning his journal and moving to sit beside her on the chaise. His arm wraps around her shoulders, bending her close enough to press a kiss to her temple. "Well, I assume you'll want to be married, in the legal sense, love?"

"Of course," she says, but she must still look confused because Carlisle tells her so and presses another kiss to the tip of her nose.

Edward settles on a record and lays it into the gramophone. Music filters through the room, something slow and jazz like. He clears his throat then, "I think what Carlisle is getting at is that it is best that Esme Platt doesn't reappear in the very town she disappeared from a little over a year ago, especially announcing an engagement to the resident bachelor doctor."

It clicks then for her and she sighs. "I suppose you're right. We'll have to go somewhere no one knows us." She glances around quickly, at the home they've made together. She'll be quite disappointed to leave it behind now.

"Don't be sad, Esme." Edward frowns.

"I'm not. Not really, I'll just miss it is all." She squeezes Carlisle's hand. "So much changed here."

"Well, then one day we'll have to return." He leans back against the chaise, drawing her to him. "When the humans forget who we are."

"Truly?" she asks.

Carlisle nods, a kind smile twisting his mouth. "That's the nice thing about property. It goes up in value, especially after a century or so."

Edward barks a happy laugh. "You would know, old man. And look at it this way, Esme. Moving means you get to go house shopping." Edward grins when her face lights up. "I knew that would change your tune."

* * *

They begin their search the following week, on a day that Carlisle takes off from the hospital. They drive for almost two hours, and neither Edward, nor Carlisle will tell her anything until they arrive. They want it to be a surprise, she guesses, and she likes surprises, so she indulges their mood and talks happily until they turn down a secluded road marked by a sign that reads PRIVATE PROPERTY.

Interest peaked, Esme scans the wood-line, watching as the home rises into view behind a high stone and wrought iron gate. It's bricked sides stretch up tall and straight, and she imagines the well to-do couple that once owned this estate. It leaves her quite speechless as they pull up the driveway, lined by tall cedars and intricately placed stones.

Edward hops out before the car has even stopped and Esme pulls her door open even before Carlisle can reach her. "This place is—" she begins, but all she can do is gape, taking his hand as she steps towards the massive building in front of her.

Carlisle holds an older set of keys out before her. "Edward secured them from the landlord earlier. This way you can enjoy yourself. Really get a feel for the place without having to worry about your blood lust."

"Oh, Carlisle, you two didn't have to do that."

"I wanted you to be able to look, without the concern of your thirst." He brushes a stray strand of hair from her neck. "You've been doing so well lately."

"You're too kind to me," she says, though she supposes that killing the landlord on accident might have put a damper on potentially purchasing the house. Somewhere in the distance she hears Edward laugh at her.

"I want to give you everything," Carlisle says, capturing her attention once more and looking unapologetically honest. Eager and hopeful even.

She smiles, and laughs, taking his face in her hands, cradling his jaw and pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth. "You already have," she whispers.

"Not nearly so," he says. "Nothing will ever be enough, but I will try my very best to make you happy. Always." He lets his hands wander down her sides, until he's clutching her waist. He spins her in his arms, so she can lean against his chest and look up at the house.

"It has a tower and a spiral staircase."

She almost vibrates with excited energy and he chuckles against her ear, dangling the keys in front of her once more. She holds out her palm and he places them gently there, but catches her other hand in his, leading her up the front porch steps.

Inside is just as wonderful as she could have imagined. She spins in place, taking it all in, watching the dust dance in rainbow spirals from the ceiling to floor.

She walks the thick, velvet carpeting that unrolls down the long entry hall, taking passing glances between towering columns that divide the rooms on the main level. "It's wonder—"

She pauses at the staircase, at the familiar curve she notes as it hugs the wall, disappearing under the landing, and it's a strange feeling that overwhelms her suddenly. Like she's seen something like this before. A familiarity . . . but she can't quite place it. Can't quite see. Something like mist fills her mind as she draws upon the staircase, the fog clearing as she counts the steps . . . _one_ . . . _two_ . . . _three_ , yes, she was on the third step from the top when the blow struck her. There had been blood on the side of her face and a bruise for weeks. She'd avoided going out, even to see her parents.

She traces the arch of the landing, tilting her head gently as the memory plays out.

Yes, she'd fallen down to the first landing, catching herself against the wall.

The fingerprints from where he'd grabbed her by the elbow remained so long she'd started wearing long sleeves in the summer.

She gasps, turning away from the stairs, her hand flying up to catch the sound from her throat, but too late.

"Esme," Carlisle says, stepping before her and placing his hands on her shoulders.

She flinches, searching for his face beyond the mist, but the only thing she can see is Charles and despite the diamond skin and newborn strength, she's terrified. She's virtually indestructible and yet she's rooted to the spot, still tormented by a man who no longer holds claim over her life.

"Esme, where are you, love?"

"Here," she says, pushing the thoughts of Charles from the forefront of her mind. It takes much more effort to focus than she expects; she'd been doing so well lately, it's almost as if she'd forgotten entirely, but the memory remains now, figments filtering in and out of alertness, more vivid the longer she dwells.

"It's him," Edward says suddenly. He appears at the end of the hall, shrouded in shadow, like some kind of dark angel. His eyes are terribly bright in the dim light peeling in from outside, his pale, stone face set in an expression somewhere between horror and rage.

She turns away from him. "I'm sorry," she whispers, working harder to clear her mind, harder to hide her thoughts from him.

"I already saw, Esme. And you have nothing to be sorry about." He walks slowly down the hall, and folds his arm over her forearm. With a long look at the staircase Edward shakes his head, turning to Carlisle. "We'll find something else. Something better."

"Love?" Carlisle asks, looking even more concerned at Edward's reaction.

"Yes," she says quietly. "Something else perhaps."

She turns for the door, but not before catching the silent exchange between Carlisle and Edward.

She's worried them. That wasn't her intention, and as soon as she's free of the house her mind clears greatly. The fresh air and the forest, it helps. It's freedom when she's spent so long without it. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath and lets herself settle. She really does love the forest: the whisper of the trees and the dance the leaves do, even the rich scent of the pine.

Hands fall to her shoulders, though she doesn't flinch this time. She could smell him—another thing she's grown quickly to love—and hear him. In fact, Carlisle's been oddly clumsy in his walk, making far too much noise for a vampire, just to ensure that he doesn't startle her, and if her still heart could beat for that, it would, because the thoughtfulness he has for her is unparalleled. Something she believed only existed in fairy tales. To place the concern of another person so highly above oneself, to always strive for their happiness and safety and contentment, it's really quite something. Something that even normal couples in love cannot understand. The force that has come to bind them together is tied so tightly she knows that Carlisle must truly be her other half.

"Love?" he whispers and she opens her eyes to see him once more. She gives him a half smile, one that curls the edge of her mouth and he pulls her into his embrace.

"I'm okay," she says because she knows it pains him to see her this way. To know that he crossed her path in her youth, that he could have stolen her away then and saved her from all the pain, but he vowed not to steal her life from her, not to be selfish, and he fights with that choice, even now. Especially now. So she shakes her head, because it is not his fault, and because of the way her life turned out, she got to hold her son. And when his time was over, her life brought her right back to Carlisle as if they were fated. Always meant to be.

And she loves that the world knew enough to bring their two souls back to each other. And despite the blood lust and the newborn emotions and the difficult things about this new life, she loves being a vampire because it means she gets to keep him forever. Him and Edward. Her boys.

She hears Edward chuckle from over by the car.

 _It's true_ , she thinks.

And the smile she gives Carlisle this time is wider and brighter and works to calm him immensely.

"Shall we keep looking?" he asks.

"I think that's a wonderful idea."

* * *

The next house they find is close to Rochester.

"It's perfect," Esme sighs before even stepping out of the car. "This is the one."

Edward laughs, slipping out the door of the car and racing inside.

Carlisle turns to her, pulling the keys from the ignition.

"This one?" he says.

She catches his hand in hers and squeezes, grinning up at the stately old manor. The front is framed by three marble archways that bleed into hand laid brickwork and intricately carved statues. Earth-green ivy scales the brick, climbing and hanging and reaching towards the very tops of the old mansion, across the iron latticework that frames the balconies upon the second level, and even over the peak of the home. It looks as if the ivy is the only thing that has lived here for some time and it thrills her.

"You haven't even seen the inside yet," he says.

"But can't you just see the potential here. Oh, Carlisle, I think it will be quite lovely in time."

Carlisle chuckles to himself and Esme pulls her gaze away from the house long enough to look at him, at the slow, deliberate toss of his head. "What is it?"

"Edward suggested that I only show you the most run-down, dilapidated home I could find. I thought him mad at first, but then, as I so often do, I trusted his unique perception and once again he has proven quite knowledgeable when it comes to pleasing you." He grins openly, leaning over to press his lips to her temple. "You do love a project, don't you?"

"I do," she sighs happily. "It gives me hope, I guess. That even the most broken things can be beautiful again. One day, with a little time and effort, it will be almost brand new."

"You are a wonder, Esme. And if you like the house so much it's yours."

"Really?"

"Anything, my love."

"You don't mind living somewhere, so—so run-down, even for a short while? I know you could have so much more, Carlisle, I don't want you to—"

He stops her with another kiss, this time his lips press against hers, crushing and wild, swallowing the gasp that soars from her throat. "Anywhere, my love. I would live anywhere, as long as you're there. I don't care if you love this house or a little one bedroom cottage with a wooden stove. It's perfect because you're here."

Esme feels his lips brush over her eyelids and across her brow. The butterflies awaken in her chest and she presses back into the seat, holding her hands tightly in her lap. If she touches him it's all over; her dangling control will unravel.

He smiles against her skin, almost like he's read her mind. He pauses against her hair and his lips tug on the shell of her ear. She whimpers then, a long, pleading sound and her fingers dig into the nylons that cover her knees, splitting the flimsy fabric.

"Carlisle," she whispers. "Not here, with Edward so close—"

"That boy stopped listening long ago," he says, his breath a warm caress against her neck. He kisses where her pulse point would be, sucking gently on the skin there. "Trust me."

His kisses move down her neck, towards her collarbone, his lips pressed against the silky fabric of her blouse as he reaches her shoulder. "I like this colour on you," he whispers.

She has to open her eyes again to remember what she dressed in this morning. It's a dark purple silk blouse, with pearl buttons down the middle, tucked into a charcoal grey skirt that hangs just below her knees.

When she meets his eyes again she has to fight not to climb out of her seat and into his lap. It's such an intoxicating feeling, being held under his ministrations, his gaze, that she wants to crawl out of her skin. "Carlisle—" she whispers again, her mouth dropping open when he reaches to kiss her.

His tongue tangles with hers, until her resolve melts entirely and she loses control, searching for it again with her hands. They climb from her lap to his arms, strong and firm beneath her curious fingers, to his broad chest, making quick sweeps against the cotton shirt and rough-hewn vest. They slide over his shoulders, holding him steady as their lips pull and part, as she swallows lungfuls of oxygen that she doesn't really need.

He growls, somewhere low in his chest, and she pulls him closer still, her hands caught up in his hair as his head falls to her shoulder, turning and pressing lingering kisses to her neck, like the fluttering butterflies that whirl in her chest.

A loud crash resonates from inside and it pulls Esme from the fog of euphoria she's been lost in. Carlisle lifts his head, looking at her with a dazed and darkened expression. She's never seen such an amber colour in his eyes before, and it distracts her, but only for a moment. Seemingly out of nowhere he sits up, rights his shirt, and threads his hands back through his hair until it sits neatly upon his head.

She envies his total mastery of control.

A moment later Edward reappears beside the car, leaning casually against the passenger side window. "So you'll be wanting to knock down some walls, I presume?"

Carlisle snorts and Esme shakes her head. "What did you break?"

"In my defence," Edward begins, backing towards the porch, hands up in surrender as Esme climbs out of the car. "It was quite an ugly wall. I think you'll agree when you see it."

He gives her a wicked grin before beelining inside again.

"That boy," Carlisle says, shaking his head fondly as he appears beside Esme, offering her his arm.

"I love him," Esme says aloud, surprising them both. "Almost as much as I love you. And this is where we shall live. Together."

"I'll sign the papers tonight. Would you like to take a tour of your new home?" he asks. "I promise to behave myself."

She smirks. "I quite like it when you don't behave yourself," she tells him as they step upon the white washed boards of the front porch staircase. "But for Edward's sake—"

"Yes, for damn Edward's sake . . ." the boy says as he reappears in the doorway. "I will be chaperoning this tour. Apparently you two cannot be trusted when left to your own devices." He reaches out for Esme's hand. "Come see the grand hall. I think the acoustics will be perfect for the piano."

* * *

They spend hours inside the house, envisioning and touring and Esme is so grateful for this wide, expansive mind of hers because it lets her file away all the little projects she keeps amassing as she's led from room to room.

At one point, Carlisle excuses himself, leaving her and Edward to make moving plans while he spends the late afternoon at the hospital, discussing his options with the head of surgery.

When he returns, Esme notes that he is smiling. "It went well then?" she asks.

He brushes some plaster dust from her shirt, raising a curious brow at the apparent destruction behind them. Edward goes running by, hair caked white, and Esme can see Carlisle fighting not to laugh. "It did," he says instead. "I've accepted a position. They'll have an opening in the emergency department. I start the month after next."

"So long?" she says, surprised. She had thought they would be moving in immediately.

"Well yes," he says. "Because before I start working I intend to be married." He pauses. "Though we can wait, of course, if you'd rather." He reaches up, running his knuckles along her cheek. "We can have a long engagement. You can take time to plan—"

She catches his hand where it rests against her face. "I don't want a long engagement. I would marry you tomorrow, if I could."

"Then I'll get to work finding a church," he says. "We'll need something small. Something that will stay away from the public eye, with someone who will be discreet . . . well, perhaps I'll take Edward with me. He's always a good judge of character. And you, my dear," he pulls something from his back pocket, pressing it into her hand, "need to decide on a dress."

It's a bridal catalogue.

"Anything you want," he says. He presses a kiss to her cheek, lingering for a moment. "I mean it, Esme. Silk. Lace. Diamond chandeliers. I don't care."

He pulls away and she looks down at the catalogue feeling slightly overwhelmed. She's never had so much choice before. Never had the means. But now . . .

"Anything," he repeats, as if sensing her question.

She stares at him, seemingly in awe because of him, but only for a moment, before she launches herself into his arms, bodily wrapping herself around him and pulling his face down to hers. She kisses him with all the strength she possesses, all the power she can muster from this diamond body, standing on his shoes with her stockinged feet to reach. Carlisle responds in earnest, hands falling to the small of her back.

"Oh, come on!"

Esme flinches, breaking the kiss at the sound of a large, wet glob of plaster connecting with the back of Carlisle's head. She looks over, staring through a hole in one of the almost demolished walls. Edward stands there, a wry grin on his face.

"Learn to control yourself, old man," he says, launching his second attack. Carlisle moves on instinct, stepping in front of Esme to shield her. She hears the plaster hit again, ricocheting off Carlisle's back in a thousand different directions.

Carlisle reaches behind him and pulls plaster glue from the back of his head. Esme covers her face with her hands, attempting not to giggle as his face breaks into a strange kind of smile. He looks at Edward and Esme watches with bated breath as the two of them face off.

"I'm faster," Edward says, answering some unsaid thing, looking very much like the fun-loving boy he still is.

"Oh, but I'm so much older," Carlisle says. "And with that, son, comes wisdom." With that the two of them disappear in a flash of plaster dust.

"Children," Esme says. "Do not break the house! It doesn't even technically belong to us yet."

"It does," Carlisle says, appearing by her side once more, looking ragged and dishevelled. "I signed the deed this afternoon." He presses a quick kiss to her lips. "Welcome home."


End file.
